


spider eyes

by Odaigahara



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Traits, Culture Shock, Eye Trauma, Former Dark Side Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, Pre-Episode: Accepting Anxiety, Spider Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Torture, Whumptober 2019, they're just such convenient villains to make up yknow, unnamed villainous dark sides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2020-11-27 09:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20946272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara
Summary: (Whumptober 2019: #9, "Shackled")*"Can'tbelieveyou've been hiding these from me, Anxiety," Malice says with diabolical cheer. "All this time I spent wondering where your extra traits were, and they were in plain sight all along! Without all that eyeshadow they stand right out, don't they?"*Pre-Accepting Anxiety: Virgil gets hurt and tries to hide it. It goes badly— and then much, much better than he expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> #9: "Shackled"
> 
> I'm so not doing these in order.
> 
> (edit: now with fanart!! https://hannahdra-ws.tumblr.com/post/629819087396143104/i-drew-art-for-odaigharas-fic-spider-eyes-on -- pls look at it, I am amazed and the artist did a great job!)
> 
> (edit 2: Alicat54c made an ANIMATION!! My friend, now it is I who is in awe: https://thereibi-art.tumblr.com/post/630753290254237696/to-my-dear-droid-who-writes-my-favorite-spider )

Virgil's panting, whining against the gag in his throat, but he can't turn his head away when Malice drags the cloth across his face, can't scream when it scratches at his eyes. He throws his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut like it'll do anything for the _other _ones, and cries out when Malice brushes a finger across the delicate surface of one of them. If he pushes down just a little more he'll crush it, Virgil realizes, but he stays perfectly still. If he jerks away, Malice's nail might catch and tear it out. He might- he might make him angrier than he is. 

The room is so dark he can barely make out Malice's face against the black, but the bit of light there is reflects in Malice's eyes. The other Side has nails that are more like claws and slitted eyes like a cat's. He likes to play with people like a cat plays with its food, prodding and tearing off pieces, mutilating until the victim stops moving and he gets bored. Virgil whimpers when he runs a claw over an eye and croons, "Can't _believe _you've been hiding these from me, Anxiety. All this time I spent wondering where your extra traits were, and they were in plain sight all along! Without all that eyeshadow they stand right out, don't they." He presses down, and Virgil screams at the burst of white-hot pain. "So _fragile. _You're just a little spider, hiding in corners. Do you have legs, too, little spider? I _so _want to tear them off."

He can't breathe. He can feel the blood trickling down his face, muddied with blood and sweat, but it's distant compared to the flinching agony below his left eye. Below his left _human _eye_, _the little spider-eye that mostly just registers depth and motion in the dark is crushed, pushed back into its socket and burst to pieces, and he can't _close _them, can't stop the same thing happening to the right, doesn't know when Malice will just _kill him _so he can wake up in his room intact. _It's just temporary, _he tells himself, _just for a little bit, you can survive for a little bit, _but then Malice brushes against the other eye and he sobs, thrashing weakly against his chains.

_His _chains. He's been here long enough that they're _his _now. Long enough that his shoulders have dislocated from the strain of his arms above his head, holding his weight by his wrists. Long enough that his body is a mass of bruises and cuts, burns where Malice thought it would be nice to leave a cleaner mark. _God, _he'd gone so long without catching his attention, but then he'd tripped in the hallway and Malice had zeroed in like a predator finding the weakest in a herd. 

Malice yanks out the gag, making Virgil spit and choke. "I asked you a question," he says brightly, like they aren't in the middle of a fucking _torture session. _"Any other traits I should know about?"

He can pull silk from his mouth, comes the wild thought, but he swallows it back before it can leave his mouth. What would Malice even _do _with that, what could he come up with- every thought is worse than the last, cutting at him like knives with the _possibilities, _but Malice starts to press on his other eye and he gasps, "Silk, just silk, _please-"_

_"Silk," _Malice says like it delights him. "From _where?" _

His eyes drift lower, and Virgil panics completely. "Mouth, from my mouth," he says in a whisper, "I, I have to think about it, it doesn't just happen." Malice's gaze bores into him with intense, manic interest, and he just _knows _it'll hurt worse if he stops talking, stops being entertaining- "I use it to patch my clothes," he says weakly, still crying.

He wants the Light Sides so much it _hurts, _even knowing that they hate him even more than Thomas does. He likes arguing with them, likes Logan's occasional agreement and Patton's encouraging smiles and even fucking _Princey's _easy magnanimity, the way he smiles at the others and holds himself like he's untouchable. He doesn't know what's going on right now, hasn't known for the last few days. He isn't even doing his _job_. He's a total and utter failure and Malice knows, that's why he's doing this he _knows _and Virgil's never going to die here, he's going to spend the rest of his existence in this monstrous limbo with Malice's smiling eyes and the tip of a claw tearing him apart piece by piece by piece. "Can- can I just have a break?" he asks, flinching when Malice strokes along his cheek. "Please, I- you know I'm not going anywhere," he tries, as reasonable as he can sound, and Malice snickers, pinching hard so he'll cry out. He's not going to leave, he'll take the other eye and go for the human ones next, Virgil can _tell._

A loud crash sounds from outside Malice's room, and he snarls and snatches his hand back, casting Virgil a look that promises pain before yanking open the door to see what's broken. Virgil closes his eyes and makes himself take slow, even breaths, imagines himself back in his room with his hood drawn tight and the door locked. When he dies and wakes back up, he's going to hide under the covers until he's too hungry to bear it, and then he's going to sneak into the Light area to raid their fridge. Patton will probably even let him, since they won't have seen him for a while by then. He'll take whatever the others don't want and remove himself before he becomes a nuisance. He'll listen to every My Chemical Romance album in order over and over again until they drive out all the thoughts in his head, and when Thomas is nervous he'll be right there next to him to make sure he _listens, _make him back up before he trips in a hallway and attracts the wrong kind of attention. Before he's chained up by someone who knows they won't ever be caught, like Virgil _knows_ happens in real life sometimes as it does in the Mindscape- before he's hurt, killed, _worse-_

The door opens again, and Malice steps back in. Virgil shuts his eyes and cringes back, telling himself _it's okay it's okay it's okay _like it makes any difference, and Malice hums with the wrong voice, "You know I can tell when someone lies to himself." A thick burst of power drags the chains from Virgil's wrists, and he falls to the ground in a heap, half-supported by the other Side's arms. All _six _of them, god, and he's gasping with relief, scrabbling to get to his feet. Deceit holds him down just long enough to force his shoulders back into place, letting him muffle his screams in his hands, and then drags him upright. The feeling of weight on his feet is _magical_.

"He'll know," he can't stop himself from saying, supporting himself with an arm around Deceit's shoulders. "He'll- there's no way, as soon as he knows it was someone wearing his face that got into his room-"

"I'll have Remus bash his face in," Deceit says casually, and Virgil breaks out with a desperate giggle, choking it off as they cross the threshold into the dark hallways. Malice is nowhere in sight. 

"Where...?"

"I didn't blackmail Rage into destroying every one of Malice's belongings that was left in the common room," and now Virgil is laughing outright, blood and tears still dripping to the carpet. Deceit drags him to his room and ushers him in, leaving as quickly as he arrived, and Virgil catalogues the favor owed before he sinks to his knees and curls into the corner, soaking in the feeling of _home safe nerves _that means he's in his own domain. Deceit hadn't mentioned the visible spider eyes, even though he must have seen them- must have _known. _Maybe he always knew. Maybe hidden things are his purview like how Virgil can sense when anyone nearby is anxious, maybe Deceit won't tell anyone else as long as he can hold it over Virgil's head, maybe Malice will spread the word and it won't matter who knows or how. The thoughts crowd up in Virgil's head like swarming spiders.

He does a breathing exercise until he can feel his limbs again and pulls himself up, leaving bloodstains on the carpet. He has to wash off. He'll get clean, drag the bandages out from under the bed and cover his wounds until the lost eye grows back. He thinks it might grow back. If it doesn't he's sure he can goad someone into killing him, maybe just ask the Duke and hope he's feeling whimsical. 

Every time Virgil closes his eyes it feels like the shackles are still there, weighing him down and cutting into his wrists. He just curls up closer under his covers, safe and warm in the dark where his instincts say nothing can reach him, and hides his face in his arms.

It's fine. He's fine. He'll see Thomas tomorrow and act like nothing is wrong and everything will be _fine. _The Light Sides will never have to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil patches himself up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation, sooner than expected but real short bc apparently this is gonna be a fic of short but quick updates? Idk but it's fun to write.

It hurts to lift his arms, but Virgil knows if he doesn't bandage his wounds now he'll regret it; he pulls silk from his mouth to stick the wrappings in place, criss-crossing bandages across his worse-off shoulder to hold it in place and using webs in place of stitches. The cuffs left vicious red marks across his wrists, but he thinks he can make his sleeves cover those enough that they're unnoticeable. His ribs and most of the burns will be hidden by his hoodie or jeans. It's really just his hands and face that need more detailed attention, and the problem with his hands isn't even an injury. They just won't stop fucking _shaking._

Whatever. Virgil hisses out a frustrated breath and feels gingerly around his lower eye socket, flinching at the raw tenderness at the edge. The eye itself is crushed beyond recognition, a bloody pulp that's dripped half down his cheek and makes him sick to look at. Virgil shudders and swallows- he _won't _throw up again- then brings up a tissue to dab at the mess on his face. He can't bring himself to touch the eye socket, even though he probably should. It can get infected, can't it, he can't just leave flesh in there as it dies and goes necrotic. It could get _parasites _or something, go septic, whatever happens to Sides who're hurt so bad they can't recover fast.

For a minute his thoughts divert to how horrible it would be if he did get sepsis, panic making him imagine his veins going black, getting sicker and sicker, rotting from the inside out- is that what happens, like gangrene but all over? Fuck, he doesn't know enough about this kind of thing, what if Thomas gets a cut and loses a leg because of it? What if he ignores a scrape and it swells up like a _baseball_\- no, focus. He has to focus. Virgil squeezes his eyes shut against an upsurge of tears and takes a new tissue, braces himself and pushes it _in. _

The pain is so intense it makes his head light, woozy like his body's trying to stop him making it worse. It can't get worse, it _can't, _but his hand is shaking and the tremors make his fingers jag into open nerves, make a swell of nausea double him over and smudge his senses. Virgil crumbles to the floor and tries to breathe, sight gray and ears ringing. God, fuck, but he _needs _to get the dead flesh out. If it's going to grow back, he has to get rid of what's already there. The eye isn't working. It isn't even an eye anymore, just the remains of a delicate little cone that- doesn't matter anymore, because it's dead. He needs to get up and stop crying and _clean it out, _but he can't stop gasping, crying like a little kid and trembling like he's still in Malice's care, like he isn't already out. Virgil tries out every self-criticism he can think of- _moron, weakling, coward, useless _freak_\- _but none of them make his body _work_. Everything aches and he can't even do this one simple thing. 

He takes a shaky breath. At least tears have salt in them, right? So that's basically cleaning the wound. Virgil huffs out something approximating a laugh, because he's pretty sure Logan would have something to say about _that _little generalization, but the mirth drains as quickly as it welled up. He has to do something about the open wound on his face, even if it's only the size of a dime. It's directly below his eye. That's too visible not to raise some questions. Plus his entire face is bruises and swelling, but he thinks foundation might hide most of _that_. 

Virgil digs through his room and comes up with a pack of little gauze pads. One of them, cut in half and stuck with silk over his missing eye, looks almost like he cut himself by accident and patched it up with a first aid kit. Even the spider silk seems close enough to normal wound tape, if no one looks too close. Which they _won't_, because Virgil doesn't plan on drawing attention to his face at all. Someone might ask what's with the gauze, but he can just say he ran into a door hinge or something, whatever stupid accident they'll believe he'd have. It's not like the Light Sides are gonna pry over something so little. 

He applies foundation around the gauze, promises himself that he'll clean it out properly later- maybe he can steal some pain meds off Thomas if one of the other Sides is distracted enough, that's totally not a terrible idea bound to end in failure and humiliation- and smudges thick eyeshadow under his lids, darker than he usually likes it. The idea of the Light Sides noticing his extra eyes _now, _unlikely as it is, sends nervous shivers down his spine. He... doesn't think they'll hurt him or anything, probably, but only Dark Sides have animal traits. No one needs to be reminded of where exactly he's from, especially if he's going to keep talking to Thomas.

Though maybe Thomas would appreciate the excuse to banish him back to the far borders of the Mindscape. He might be relieved to have Anxiety out of his hair. Virgil knows he would be if _he _had someone who hung around like a threatening shadow all the time, trying to make him scared of things. 

Still. He has to do his job. If he's the one scaring Thomas, then Thomas doesn't have to learn the hard way what he should be terrified of. Virgil's like a vaccine, except against all the horrible things in the world instead of measles or chicken pox. He has to do that much. The Light Sides can hate him all they want, but he's not aboutto stop. Thomas needs him. Not even Malice and his fucking _games _will keep him from putting in an appearance when he's required.

He tries not to think about it and focuses on his appearance, canting his hood so it hides some of the swelling in his face. If he's got the schedule right, there's a video later today- he can't fuck up how he looks when everyone might see it, not just the other Sides. He felt the others give him a few half-hearted pings while they were planning, probably because Patton thought he should be extra nice or something, who knows- but Virgil was busy being chained up and beaten at the time, so he's not even sure if he replied. He's definitely not sure what he would have replied _with, _except maybe a general refusal.

Fuck, now they'll think he was being a dick again for no reason. Will they even want him for the video? He's been in most of them so far, but that isn't exactly a guarantee of future participation. Thomas could have gotten tired of him by now. The fans could have gotten sick of seeing his face, and Thomas can't afford to go arguing with them, not when every video could signal the decline of his popularity. 

Whatever. He still has to get ready just in case, and even if they don't call him, it's not like he has anything better to do. In the mirror, with his head down like usual and his hood up, he looks more or less the same as usual. Nothing to make anyone uncomfortable, except for how Anxiety in general makes everyone uncomfortable. Nothing showing that would obligate the others to act like they care about him- which he knows they would, because Thomas is nice like that. He'd probably even make Princey show concern, stiff and solicitous like he isn't sure how to treat Virgil when he's not an enemy. 

Virgil half-expects that he won't be summoned when filming time rolls around, but sure enough he feels the faint pull of Thomas' expectation below his breastbone, behind the ache of his broken ribs. _Deep breaths, Virgil. Same act as usual. Don't fuck it up._

He takes one last look in the mirror and flickers out. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others don't really acknowledge him when he appears on the stairs, but Logan gives a slight nod and Patton kind of smiles, warm like at a stranger or an old lady at church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the videos have a lot more people behind the scenes- Thomas' friends, for one thing- but I don't want to write them, so, whatever.
> 
> And... there's another chapter after this.

The others don't really acknowledge him when he appears on the stairs, but Logan gives a slight nod and Patton kind of smiles, warm like at a stranger or an old lady at church. Virgil soaks up the meager attention with pathetic eagerness. He knows they don't really care much for his presence- no surprise there, Virgil would crawl out of his own skin to escape himself some days- but their tolerance for it sends a warm thrill through his chest. He likes talking with Thomas, arguing with Princey and the others and having his opinion actually matter. It's nice not to have to constantly watch his back. 

Logan hands him the script, more of a rough outline than anything super concrete, and he skims it, frowning over a couple places where it seems like something is off. "Am I really supposed to make a Disney reference there? I feel like if I'm reaching for a pun it'll come off weird. Also, this script is stupid,” he adds, mostly for the sake of consistency.

"I was going to have you think of something specific before we started, but Sides that don't show up to rehearsal don't get opinions," Roman says, leaning in close and stealing the script back. Virgil rolls his eyes. "If you need ideas, though, I thought we could go with something suitably dark and creepy- maybe a play on Mother Gothel's name? Or, hmm, hold on-" He pulls out a pen and starts scribbling corrections.

Virgil manages to grab the script back and pauses, squinting. "Princey, I can't even read this."

Roman sighs and waves a hand, and the chicken scratch becomes words printed on the page. Virgil goes over the new lines and bobs his head, half-approving; it almost seems like something he'd actually _say. _"By the way," Roman says, looking up from his own papers with an inquisitive sparkle in his eye, "not that I mean to pry, except of course that I _do_ and you should tell me everything- what happened to your face? I can't help but notice a new adornment where none previously appeared."

Virgil startles, reaching up to the little gauze pad covering his empty eye socket. In the easy familiarity of pre-video planning, he'd almost forgotten why he hadn't been there for the _actual _planning in the first place. "I fell asleep in the middle of something and stabbed myself in the cheek with a pencil," he says, affecting the same disgust at himself he feels when he _actually _does something that dumb. It's happened; Virgil would know, he was there. This pencil also happened to dislocate both of his arms, chain him up in its room for three days, and alternately bruise, cut, and burn him across his body until he was out of his mind with terrified agony and in a state of near-constant panic and dissociation, but that's in the past. Virgil isn't about to blame the, uh, pencil factory for that one.

... It's possible that his injuries are affecting him more than he thought. "You... fell on a pencil," Logan says incredulously. "Really?"

"Think of me like a vampire," Virgil says, "and a pencil is basically a wooden stake, right? Except smaller, and filled with graphite." Roman conjures a crucifix and pokes him in the shoulder with it, and Virgil flinches back with a hiss as the touch sends pain ricocheting through the joint. He blinks back agonized tears and snaps, "Don't _do_ that!"

"Sorry, sorry," Roman says, backing up with his hands in the air, "I... didn't think that would actually work, I- are you a vampire? But there's sunlight right now, I'd assumed you'd be melting or something if that were the case."

"I've got a bruise there," Virgil admits, glaring darkly.

Patton comes back from the kitchen with Thomas just in time to hear that last exchange and audibly gasps, "_Anxiety_, you didn't tell me you were hurt!" 

“It’s really not a problem,” Virgil says awkwardly, but Patton’s already holding out an ice pack with an expectant look on his face. Virgil takes it, trying his best not to gasp at the stretch on his shoulder, and just sort of... shoves it up his hoodie, wedging it between the fabric and his worse-off arm. It... helps. “Huh. Thanks, Pat.”

They start the actual filming process, but stop after five minutes. “Okay, should we mention the gauze pad thing or just not bring up the bandages at all?” Thomas asks. “I don’t really want to set off another round of theorizing.”

”That’s categorically impossible, considering that your so-called “Fanders” theorize at everything,” Logan points out. “Statistically, they’ve formulated bizarre hypotheses on everything from Patton’s clothing to the specific microexpressions they can catch when they pause the video, regardless of the fact that sometimes- only sometimes, mind you- a piece of data is _entirely_ irrelevant.”

“Logan, I don’t think it’s very nice to insult Thomas’ fans like that,” Patton says.

”Insult- how was I insulting- ‘so-called’ is the correct term! That’s what they call themselves!”

”It doesn’t sound too friendly, though.”

”For _Newton’s __sake-“_

Virgil loses focus as they argue. His entire body feels like a war zone; he inhales, and it scrapes the cuts and burns against his hoodie. Exhales and the movement jostles his ribs. Every time he blinks it sears lightning through his ruined eye, raw and piercing like Malice stuck shards of glass in the socket and left them there. He has to try to focus on what’s going on, though. If he doesn’t it feels worse, nothing distracting him from the echo of sharp cuffs around his wrists and biting cold, the pull of knives through his flesh and Malice’s sick grin. 

He should steal some of Thomas’ leftovers. He can- that’ll let him stay out of the Dark Side Commons for a while. He won’t have to look people in the face and wonder if they’re about to take his other eye or demand to see his animal traits for themselves- won’t have to swear up and down that he doesn’t have spider arms or risk another torturous prank. 

His ears are ringing. It takes a second for him to realize Roman’s talking to him, and another one to categorize his expression as disgusted and concerned. At least, Virgil thinks it’s disgusted. He really needs to start focusing again. “_What, _Princey?”

Roman touches his face below his eye, polite like he’s pointing out a cosmetic issue, and Virgil mirrors him, reaches up— his fingers come away red. For a second he just stares, noting distantly that his hand is shaking; then he’s up, blurting out an excuse and darting toward the bathroom, too panicked to remember he can sink out.

Fuck. _Fuck_. The gauze pad is half-soaked in blood, red trickling down like an obscene tear track from a B-grade horror movie, and it’s not just blood: Virgil can see tiny bits of flesh, remnants of his messed-up eye that must’ve been washed out. He curses, trying not to cry— like that would help— and tears off the bandage, sucking in a pained breath at the pull. It hurts. His hands won’t stop shaking, his entire body is shaking like he’s on the verge of a panic attack but he isn’t, he cannot afford that right now— Virgil yanks a few tissues out of the box on the counter, wets them and wipes his cheek— hisses when it just smears blood all over his face and tries again, more carefully, dabbing off foundation with the gore. He’s crying. He shouldn’t be crying, it’s just a flesh wound and it’ll come back the next time he dies anyway, Malice should’ve just killed him and saved him the humiliation—

The eye socket itself makes him sick to look at, so he holds another wet tissue against it and breathes in, out, 4-7-8, tries to remember what it feels like to be okay. It’s like any other cut or scrape, he tells himself. Too light for stitches, even, though maybe once it stops bleeding he can try webbing it to stop it up. If he applies enough pressure it will stop bleeding, and maybe stop hurting, and then he can go back out and pretend it was just a wardrobe malfunction. Everything’s fine. He’s fine. This is just what happens when he gets careless and it’s _fine_, it’s not a big deal and it’s in the _past_, he has a video to get to!

“Anxiety? You okay in there, kiddo?” breaks through the ringing in his ears behind him, and Virgil spins around with a stifled scream, staring wide-eyed and shaking at Patton. Patton’s staring, too, color leaching from his face as he takes it all in: the blood, Virgil realizes, but more importantly the lack of makeup and tiny unblinking eye and _fuck shit fuck_ isn’t Patton scared of spiders? He’s going to hate Virgil after this, just like the others do, and it’ll be his own fault for never mentioning, his own fault for having animal traits, his own for being caught and _oh god_ Patton’s eyes are welling with tears. 

“Sorry,” Virgil babbles, because he’s a moron, “sorry, um, I know it’s weird, I usually hide it I swear just give me a second—“

”What happened to your _face? _Did- did someone do this to you, are you okay? Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I didn’t notice, I’m such a bad friend, what do you need? Logan can fix things, I-" 

“You think we’re _friends_?” Virgil asks blankly, and then Patton’s crying for real in loud, gulping sobs and it’s official, he’s the worst person in existence.

”Patton? What is it, why are you crying— oh, dear Julie Andrews _what is that.”_

”It’s an eye,” Virgil snaps, half-hysterical. It hurts and he can’t stop crying, he really can’t. “It was two eyes and now it’s **_one,_ and I’d really like to stop talking about it now!”**

They’re all crowded around the door now, blocking the exit, and he knows he made Patton cry, he knows what’s coming but it doesn’t stop him hissing, darkening his aura and snarling like it’ll keep them back, make them less mad and why can’t he stop _crying_— Roman moves forward and he flinches back, catches the back of his leg on the edge of the bathtub.

He crashes back into the tub and takes the curtain down with him. The fall hits every bruise in his body at once. He thinks he might cry out, and then he’s tangled in the curtains, swallowing humiliated tears and he can’t _move_, he’s tied down he can’t move and they’re all around him, getting _closer_, and oh fuck Malice brought friends—

“**Don’t**,” he forces out, trying to cover his spider-eyes with an aching arm, tensed for the violence he knows is coming, “**don’t, Mal, I’m sorry, I— you know I have to do my job, **_**please don’t—“** _He can feel the heavy shackles on his arms, the knife in Malice’s hand, the vicious smile and Virgil doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to see him coming, he knows no one will protect him but god, _please_, not now. 

He can feel blood trickling down his cheek again, muddled with tears; his cuts have opened, too, webbing loosened by too much movement. _It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay_. He’s going to get through this. It’s fine, it’s normal, it’s all going to be fine. 

Someone touches his arm and he freezes, squeezes his eyes shut and stops breathing. Braces. 

Slowly, the ringing in his ears recedes and is replaced by a voice. “— Logan. You are not in danger, and we are not going to hurt you. I-I need you to nod if you can hear me. Can you hear me, Anxiety?”

... Logan. What’s Logan doing here, is it actually Deceit? Either way it’s a good idea to open his eyes, so Virgil does. “Dee?” he murmurs, and the hand on his arm stiffens. “I don’t— why are you Logan right now, that doesn’t even make sense.” The fog fades; Deceit is safe, even if he’s kind of a dick sometimes, and if he’s here and calm, Malice definitely isn’t nearby. Logan’s face swims into clarity when he rubs his eyes, and since it’s Deceit he lets his sleeve roll back with the motion, lets the angry chafing red hit the light. There’s a sharp intake of breath. 

“Anxiety,” Logan’s voice says, shaky like its owner is trying to keep calm, and Virgil— that’s not how Deceit talks, Deceit knows his name—

“Logan,” he says, shooting up and barely avoiding smacking into Logan’s head, “You’re— shit. Fuck, I’m so sorry, _augh_.”

He looks past him and _yep_, that’s everyone— Roman stricken, Patton still crying, Thomas looking like he wants to help but has no idea how— and of course he’s ruined the entire filming day. That’s just typical. Virgil buries his hands in his hair and groans into his knees, breath hitching when it agitates his ribs. Malice can take him back now, that’s fine. Anything to get out of this situation.

”You don’t have to apologize for a panic attack,” Patton whispers, horrified. 

“Sorry,” Virgil says automatically, then grimaces. “I mean. That was a pretty huge overreaction for being asked a question. I basically killed your shower,” addressing Thomas for the last part. He wipes below his eye again, decidedly not flinching when his finger brushes the tenderized edges of the crushed socket, and doesn’t miss how the others follow the motion and blanch. 

“Anxiety, I don’t mean any offense, but that is _not _a pencil wound,” Roman says, hands in front of him and wavering. “Unless the pencil also tied you up and left bruises on your shoulders, which. Doesn’t seem likely at all.”

“Hold on, he told you that’s a pencil wound? And you _believed_ him?”

”I’m very convincing,” Virgil manages, pushing to his feet. His head swims and he pitches forward, but Logan actually _catches _him, steadies him so he’s upright. “I mean, I thought the vampire reference was a nice touch. Topical. Fit my aesthetic, you know.”

"What _happened_ to you?” Thomas sounds choked.

”More importantly,” Logan says into his ear, maneuvering him steady, “have you actually treated these wounds? The one below your eye looks absolutely ripe for a number of infectious diseases, including but not limited to _staphylococcus aureus_—“

”Guys,” Virgil says, pained in more ways than one, “it’s seriously nothing,” but he’s placed on the couch before he can protest, Logan summoning first aid supplies and motioning that he should take off his hoodie. Virgil balks. “I’m _not_ doing that.”

”You’re obviously injured,” Logan says impatiently. “Delaying treatment can only lead to further injury and the possibility of infection, illness, and eventual painful death— all of which will have a negative effect on both you and Thomas. Thomas, do you want Anxiety to die?”

Thomas blanches. “What— no! Logan, why would you even ask that, of course I don’t!”

”What, really?” Virgil asks, surprised, and now they’re all looking at him like he personally murdered all 101 Dalmatians. “What? I wouldn’t blame him. I literally hang around like the angsty devil on his shoulder, you know this.”

“Strangely enough, that does not translate to me wanting you dead,” Thomas finally says. His eyes are shimmering, and Virgil bites his lip and turns away, unaccountably ashamed. 

“Sorry,” he mutters again, and Logan nods like the matter is settled.

”Take off your shirt,” he orders, and, well, Virgil’s reached maximum humiliation already today; there’s nowhere to go but down, so he might as well let gravity take hold. He tries to reach up, hisses through his teeth when he can’t lift his arms that high, finally just disappears the hoodie and shirt completely and bares the whole expanse of ashy skin. He’s heard everything Malice has to say about it, so the Light Sides’ reactions probably can’t touch him, and anyway half of it’s covered in bandages and bits of web, sticky to touch. Virgil crosses his arms and looks determinedly at the ground. “Right,” Logan says at last, voice ragged. The bandages are soaked, clinging to his skin more from blood than anything. “I’m going to take these off. Roman, Patton, Thomas, if you could back up?”

”Right,” Roman echoes, doing as he’s told. Virgil especially doesn’t want to see his expression. Yeah, that’s right, Anxiety was a moron who showed weakness and got caught! Congratulations, now you know, and you get the prize of seeing him humiliated in front of literally everyone he knows. Two wonderful moments for the price of one. 

Virgil moves his arms as far from his body as possible, eyes burning with unshed tears, and Logan gently unwraps the bandages, pulling them loose and piling them in a bucket beside the couch. He hears Patton gag behind him, sees Thomas put a hand to his mouth, but doesn’t look down at his injuries; he already knows what they look like. Bruises like a topographical map of the United States, burns arching up and down his back and against his ribs, long cuts wrapped in spiderweb and welling just a little with blood. “Don’t touch those, they’re stitches,” he blurts to Logan, like the other Side was planning to put that much effort in, but Logan nods and follows his lead, wrinkling his nose at the blistered pink of the burns. He’s pale and clammy, but his hands are steady.

Virgil appreciates that, at least. Face burning, he averts his eyes and lets Logan get to work. He knows it's just for Thomas' sake, but he thinks- just for a moment- that maybe he can pretend it's for his sake, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil flees as soon as Logan's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter again, but now the fic will have more of an actual plot and tags have changed accordingly. Expect more hurt/comfort in the future, and thank you to everyone who commented! Especially to Hikarisakurariver (did I spell that right?) for giving me ideas.
> 
> TW at end of chapter.

Virgil flees as soon as Logan's done, barely muttering _thank you _before he's out and back to his room. It's so _fucking_ rude, he knows it is, but he can't stay around them right then, can't face them when he feels like he's going to shake apart. It's like his webs are the only thing holding him together.

As soon as he's back in his room he's crying, whimpering into his knees like a little kid, and the worst part is he knows _exactly_ why. He had to take his shirt off and show them proof of how stupid he is, how easily he got caught- had to have Logan pull him back from a panic attack, had to have Roman point out that he was bleeding before he realized just how badly he was ruining the whole day. Nothing that looks like him is getting put on camera. Virgil wouldn't let this go on YouTube even if Princey gave the okay, because inconsistencies aren't something he's gonna let slide. 

He shouldn't even have answered when they summoned him. If he'd refused, they would have written it off as Anxiety being his uncooperative self. They could have been mad at him, could have yelled at him next time without Thomas guilting them into helping. It's his fault everything got derailed, and he wasn't even _trying _to derail it. He just didn't do a good enough job of fixing his wounds himself.

A pang of guilt hits something worse lingering in Virgil's chest, and he shivers when he identifies it as _fear. _But of course it's fear: Logan patched him up like it was _nothing_. Even if it was just for Thomas, that's a huge favor. Any Side would want to be paid back for that kind of effort.

It's not enough that it benefits Thomas, because the Light Sides could all tell Virgil wasn't letting it affect Thomas. It benefits _Virgil_ to have his wounds cared for, to have Logan's cool hands change his bandages and apply salve to his burns, wrap his shoulders properly and clean out his ruined eye. None of that was even _necessary_.

Hell, they would've been within their rights to hurt him worse for messing up the filming schedule. He made Thomas a liar who didn't keep promises to his fans, made them all go through the effort of memorizing the scripts for _nothing._ That was another favor right there, the _thanks_ for not gagging him with the shower curtain and making sure he learned his lesson about being disruptive. It's their space, after all, the Light Side and the real world; Virgil's an intruder who carved out a niche and hissed at anyone who got too close, like the spider he is. 

Like the _pest _he is, Virgil thinks half-hysterically. Everyone knows that spiders get squished when they get into people's houses. Creeping up through the floorboards and under the door, skittering under the oven or the fridge to hide, getting caught and splattered across the floor... How long has he been intruding, anyway? How often have they made sure he knows how unwelcome he is?

_Oh, good, it's Anxiety. I hate that guy, why are you here, why do you keep appearing like this, no one called you- _

It doesn't make sense that they'd help him unless they wanted something from him _personally_. It doesn't seem like any of them are attracted to him, and Thomas pays more attention to them, so he wouldn't let them make Virgil do anything sexual, he doesn't think... but what else is there? What else can he _possibly _offer? Someone to knock around, like a more satisfying stress ball? Someone to do all their chores? Someone for Roman to cast as the villain and beat up, for Logan to test things on that Patton won't let him test on himself? 

That could be it, right? Since before he didn't really have any reason to stick around if they started wanting more than he's willing to give. Now he owes them _way _too much, though. Now he'll have to let them know he's willing to pay them back.

It's fine. They're already nice to him, and right now they think he's pathetic so they'll probably go easy on him. He _likes _the Light Sides, even, so whatever they decide to do, he'll be cool with it. Even if- but they're not like that. They have to know they could just _ask, _if they're attracted to him, they wouldn't-

Virgil cuts off his thoughts there and counts his breaths, pulling himself back to reality by force. "Stupid," he hisses at himself, "stupid, stupid, _stupid." _Like the Light Sides would _ever _hurt him like that. Like Thomas would ever _let_ them, especially when Virgil is already injured. Probably they'll just make him behave better, act nicer, do his job worse. Have him do their chores or something. 

His eyes well up with fresh, humiliating tears. God_, _he sank out without even thanking them properly. They might hit him for _that, _but in that case he'll deserve it. _Hi Thomas, just here to ruin your video and leave, not even gonna try to work through it! My face is bleeding and Patton looked at me, so now I'm gonna go have a breakdown in my room. No biggie. Have fun fixing your script without one of your characters._

Virgil climbs into bed and pulls the covers over his head. The feeling of safety washes over him again, steady and reliable as the tides, and his stupid crying peters off into silence in accordance with instinct. Darkness is security, and so is silence. 

He closes his eyes, and the dark resolves itself into a couple of vague shapes: the curve of the blanket against the mattress, the faint strip of light from his room, his own fingers in front of him. No color vision for him, especially at night; his eyes pretty much only register motion and shapes, not even advanced enough for grayscale. It usually feels nice to rely on them while he sleeps, always vaguely aware even as the rest of him drifts off, but he can feel the hole in his vision where his other eye was. The awareness sends bright prickles of anxiety through him and needles him awake. 

What if someone comes after him, but he rolls over on his good eye first and leaves the socket facing them? It's covered in a new gauze pad, and it's stopped bleeding, but it isn't showing any signs of regrowing his eye. He can't detect _threats_ with that side of his face. What if Malice finds a way in? What if he's angry, what if he drags Virgil back, kicking and screaming until the gag goes back in and the chains are around his wrists, so deep in the other Side's room that no one can reach him?

Malice doesn't take kindly to other people stealing his toys. He's going to wait outside the door to Virgil's room, or get another Side to wait for him, and then he's going to take him back until he's good and _done_. He's going to cut out every one of his eyes, put a metal collar around his neck this time so he _really_ can't get out, cut through his skin to the bone. Virgil almost wishes Deceit hadn't gotten him out, but... it's hard to tell when Malice is going to get tired of a new fascination, and Virgil really did have to do his job. 

It's okay. It's cool. All he has to do is appear like normal tomorrow and thank the others properly, make sure they know he's fine and he's going to pay them back. They can do the video for real using the pencil excuse for the camera, or maybe Princey can work an explanation into the script somehow. They can do a shapeshifting episode, even, if Virgil can get over how much he hates it. 

Tomorrow. He'll go and thank them for real tomorrow, and figure out what they want for fixing his bandages. Apologize to Patton and Thomas for making them see all that, to Logan for making the others volunteer him just because he knows first aid, to Roman for messing up his creative flow or whatever. They'll probably have forgotten that they wanted to know about Malice by then- and if he's _very_ lucky, Malice will have forgotten about him by then, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: graphic imagery, panic attacks, thoughts of possible sexual coercion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil appears on the Light Side early the next morning, twitchy and uncertain of his welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May return for later edits. If so, they'll just be for grammar and flow, not for plot.

Virgil appears on the Light Side early the next morning, twitchy and uncertain of his welcome. It's four-thirty in the morning and he hasn't slept, but his foundation covers most of his exhaustion and the eyeshadow does the rest. He changed the gauze and reinforced the bandages with webbing, careful as he could be, and he's even more amazed with Logan's work now. His first aid is as thorough as his sleep schedule. 

He didn't manage to track down painkillers, but that's probably for the best. What if he got addicted? What if Thomas got addicted? That'd be a fine end to a YouTube career. Virgil would rather power through a thousand torture sessions than fuck things up for him like that.

No one is up this early, so he creeps into the kitchen, long practice keeping his steps light and quiet. If he opens the fridge it'll send light all over the room, so he sticks with the pantry, sneaking anything he can find that doesn't have a noisy wrapper. He already owes the Light Sides, so he really shouldn't be taking their food on top of that, but his food stash is running on _fumes_. Between Logan's anger at Virgil messing up his eating schedule or whatever and Malice's delight at finding him unprotected in the Dark Side kitchen, he knows which battle he prefers. _Logan_ has a vested interest in keeping Virgil relatively healthy.

He slips as much extra food as he can surreptitiously carry into the pockets of his hoodie and shoves a slice of raisin bread into his mouth. He knows it looks stupid as hell, but there's no one else up and he's been living on applesauce pouches for the past day and a half; he's allowed to enjoy himself a little. Raisins and cinnamon sugar are the _best_ combination, even if the bread itself is a little dry. Beggars can't be choosers.

When he's finished, he stands and catches his back on the pantry door, the corner pressing through his bandages to scrape raw fire across one of his wounds. The sudden agony makes him jerk back, choking down a cry of pain, and his elbow hits one of the shelves before he can stop it. 

The jam jar breaks with a sound like a gunshot. Virgil freezes, and the litany of possible disasters in his head solidifies to a single voice: _idiot idiot _idiot_ you're supposed to be making their lives_ easier _they're gonna tie you up and break_ you _for this__-_

No, no, they won't do that, they don't want him hurt that badly-

Footsteps clatter down the stairs, and Virgil resists the urge to sink out and hide; this is his fault, so the least he can do is admit to it. A blinding beam of light makes him shield his eyes, and he hears a sharp inhale like the beginning of a scream. "It's just me!" he whispers hurriedly, trying not to flinch back. They won't hurt him. They _won't, _not yet at least. He's fine. Everything's fine.

The flashlight lowers. _"Anxiety?" _comes Princey's incredulous voice. Virgil isn't sure whether he should be relieved. "What the-- where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried Patton was when you just _left?_ Why are you stalking around the kitchen like a burglar?"

"What is this, twenty questions?" Virgil grumbles, trying to rub the spots out of his eyes. His heart is pounding in his chest. _Don't show weakness, you know what happens when you show weakness. _"I was hungry."

"You might have asked," Roman says harshly, but he only flicks on the light and blinks at the mess on the floor. "You villain, you killed the _Crofters_? Logan's going to be heartbroken."

Virgil shoves his hands in his pockets and inches around Roman to the paper towels. "I'll clean it up, don't get your panties in a twist. Not like I _meant_ to break it." _Please don't think I meant to break it._

"Don't bother," Roman says, and the mess disappears with a flick of his wrist. At Virgil's incredulous stare, he says wryly, "There are benefits to being the creative side, you know. And _you_ shouldn't be straining yourself."

"I'm fine," Virgil says, hunching his shoulders up to his ears. "Logan did a good job."

Roman doesn't seem averse to his presence, so Virgil sits beside him at the counter, keeping a chair between them. He opens the bag of granola he picked up from the floor, eyeing Princey carefully in case he objects, and shoves a cluster into his mouth. Roman's lips turn down at his sloppiness, but Virgil represses the burst of fear in his chest and keeps eating. _Fuck_ table manners. If he's gonna hang out with them more while he tries to repay his debt, he might as well learn where the limits are now. Will Princey tell him to eat more neatly? Will he make him stop eating? Now is the time to find out, and Virgil plans to choke as much as he can down before Roman comes to a decision.

"Your appetite seems healthy enough," Roman sighs. Virgil tries not to tense up. "Have I missed some important news? Has every granola manufacturer in the kingdom gone bankrupt at once?"

Virgil swallows. "Nah. Just hungry." He shouldn't pry, but... "Why're you up so early?" 

Roman shrugs. "Sometimes inspiration strikes at inconvenient times." He doesn't look inspired. He looks tired, dark smudges under his eyes and a tension to his shoulders that Virgil knows from the mirror. Thomas hasn't been doing much recently, though; Virgil thinks back, but he can't think of anything in the real world that's been bothering him more than usual. He can't imagine what's got Roman so worked up. 

The microwave beeps, and Virgil jumps; he hadn't realized it was on, too lost in his own thoughts for the past few minutes. Roman stands to retrieve two mugs of hot milk, then drops a packet of hot chocolate mix in each of them, stirs, and pushes one over to Virgil. "Since you're so hungry," he says with a tight smile. Virgil weighs the odds of Roman poisoning him, decides it doesn't matter if he does because he has to be there anyway, and takes a sip. Warmth trickles into his stomach.

"Thanks," he says quietly. He can't tell if Roman is acknowledging that Virgil already owes them or what. Maybe he's just in a weird mood. "I'll make it up to you guys. I promise."

Roman blinks at him. "It's only hot cocoa," he says with a wrinkle of his nose. "_Instant, _even. Hardly gourmet."

"Whatever, Princey." Virgil ignores the relief he feels at the other Side's incomprehension. He lifts the mug to his lips again, wincing as the movement pulls a stitch on his back, and goes still when he sees Roman start to glare. "Is... something wrong?" Why is he glaring, what does he want-

"You said _Mal_," Princey says, and Virgil's blood runs to ice. Roman's eyes are harder and clearer than Remus' ever get, bright with power, and Virgil can't begin to meet them. He continues, mouth tight as he glances down at the counter, "Malice, I'd assume. Is he the one who took your eye?"

Virgil glares into his hot chocolate and wills his hands not to shake. Malice's bright vicious grin, his thumb on Virgil's eye, pressing _down- don't think about it. _"Does it matter?" The words come out harsher than he intends. "I'm fine now. It'll come back the next time I die."

Roman stares. "Does it- of _course_ it matters! You were crying, every part of you was burned- this other so-called Side chained you up and hurt you, and Logan had to fix you up because you wouldn't stop _bleeding_ from your empty _eye socket_-"

"You don't have to rub it in!" Virgil snaps. _God_, he really did inconvenience everyone, didn't he. It's not exactly a surprise that Roman's angry, that he's raising his voice- "Look, I already said I'm sorry, I don't know what else you want unless you _tell me_." 

"I want you not to be _tortured._ How about _that_ for a start?" Roman's tone is hot, but his eyes are wet. Virgil watches in horror as Princey reaches up to wipe at them, not even bothering to turn and hide his face. What's he doing, doesn't he know Virgil could take advantage of any weakness? Sure, Virgil's not much of a threat now, but what if he decided to ally with Malice later on, fake being tortured to lure Princey in? Doesn't he know he's not supposed to care?

It's not the same as with Patton. Patton can cry all he likes- he's _Morality, _Thomas' strongest Side, and it's part of his function. Might as well expect Virgil to hide being paranoid, or Logan to hide how neurotic he gets about schedules. But for Princey, the _protector_, to cry...

Virgil blurts out, "I can stay up here for a while," unable to stand the sight of it. "Like. On the couch or something." Right in the Commons where anyone can do anything they want with him, unable to see half the room and vulnerable to whoever's passing through- but it's the Light Side. There's only three people who could hurt him in his sleep. It's not that big a deal. "So you'd know I'm not... you know."

Roman's face lightens, and the tightness in Virgil's chest loosens just a little. "Would you? I mean, not that _I_ care, but it would certainly ease Patton's nerves."

Another awkward shrug. "Sure, I guess." He has _no reason_ to be scared. They're not gonna hurt him after Logan spent so long patching him up. He drinks the lukewarm dregs of his hot cocoa and stands nervously. "I, um... since it's still early...?"

Roman waves a hand, and an outright pile of pillows and blankets appears on the couch. Virgil peers over at them, then glances back at the other Side. "Thanks," he mumbles, standing and placing his mug carefully in the sink. He's not sure what to do with all the food in his pockets now, but maybe he can return it before Roman notices it's missing, or hide it in the couch cushions or something.

The couch is soft. He's exhausted, and the Light Side feels almost as safe as his room once he pushes most of his thoughts from his mind. It's easy to curl into the blankets and close his eyes, easy to cover his other eyes completely so they won't be damaged or gross Patton out. 

Easy to drift off and tell himself he'll think about all he owes when he wakes up. He doesn't even hear Roman leave.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares aren't exactly new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted at like 1 AM, so there may be minor edits later.

It _hurts._

That's the first coherent thought, and then others crowd in, jostling for space and overwhelming his mind with their urgent intensity. _Wrists hurt chest hurts dark space not alone DANGER_ and Virgil's hands are chained above his head again, the balls of his feet barely able to touch the ground. His eyes- three of them, he remembers what happened to the fourth one but not why he's here, why is he _here- _adjust to the dark with ease. He immediately wishes they hadn't.

Malice is standing at the edge of the light, fists clenched, and his red eyes are glittering with rage. "There you are," he says, sugar-sweet and deadly soft. "Took you long enough to get conscious again, didn't it, Anxiety? I'd almost think you were trying to _avoid_ me."

For some reason Virgil's not gagged. Does Malice want him to talk? Wasn't Virgil somewhere else before, why can't he remember where he was before this? Something in Malice's displeased tone makes desperate hatred well up in his throat, drags him back to the present by force. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says like a moron who's about to lose his _other_ eye, and panic is taking over before he even finishes the sentence- "Did you not _want_ me unconscious?"

Malice grins, teeth glinting white in the dim light. Virgil's heart sinks. Of course he was waiting for him to talk back, for Virgil to give him an excuse to start again. He can already see the knife forming in Malice's hand. "You and I both know it's no fun if you don't scream," Malice says lightly. "I'll give you a choice, though, since you're so tired you're falling _asleep _on me. Would you like me to do the honors of the next cut? Or would you prefer one of _them? _That might make things more fun!"

"Fun isn't the word _I'd_ use," Virgil spits out, but when Malice steps closer he flinches, tries to hide his face. Behind Malice are three horribly familiar figures, and Virgil can see the glint of light off Patton and Logan's glasses, off Princey's sword. _No_. "No, they- they wouldn't be here. They never come to this side, I don't even know if they can, I-" He grasps at straws. "This is a dream. I'm _dreaming_-"

"Oh, come on, Anxiety," Malice says with laughter in his voice. "Like you'd ever be this coherent in a _nightmare?_ Where did you think you were just now? Have I fucked up your head that much?"

"But I'm _out,"_ Virgil says weakly, a flicker of memory- cool gloves on his shoulders, a careful weight to lean against- making itself known. Deceit left him at his room, made sure Virgil wouldn't owe him too much. He's known Virgil's limits since they were all _kids. _He knows what Virgil can handle and what he can't and as soon as Virgil went missing Deceit went after him, but he didn't push first aid because he knows about the webs and doesn't want Virgil jumpy around him, doesn't want him worried about what he'd _want_-

And Virgil had gone to the Light Sides and fucked it up anyway. "I _can't_ be here," he whispers. "Dee got me out." Malice's expression changes for a second, going dark.

"You _are _delusional, aren't you." He steps closer and brushes his thumb across Virgil's cheek, yanking his hand back when Virgil hisses frantically and snaps at him. "Oh, right! I knew I'd forgotten something." He waves a hand, and Virgil jerks back, choking; there's cloth in his throat, shoved back far enough to hurt, and his mouth is duct-taped shut. He can hardly breathe past the obstruction. Unwanted, humiliating tears spring to his eyes. God, he's so _fucking _weak. "Nothing else to say? That's okay, you can scream just fine as is."

The world shudders, and Princey is right next to him, wearing the disgusted expression he gets when Virgil pops up where he's not wanted. Virgil stares at him pleadingly- can't he see he's gagged and trapped? That he's not a threat?- but Princey's face darkens and the sword comes down, slicing through skin muscle bone and Virgil _screams, guts spilling onto the floor-_

A clatter of dishes makes him jolt upright, heart pounding with adrenaline, but there aren't any chains around his wrists, no open bleeding wounds that he can feel. 

Virgil shakes anyway, hugging his blanket around his shoulders; if he looks down, he'll see his intestines on the floor, the long slice where Princey's sword butchered him, he _knows _he will. It takes a long time for him to stop shivering, staring out at nothing and trying to regulate his breathing, until he's _sure_ it was only a nightmare. Just another sign of how weak he is. Fuck, he hopes he didn't make any noise.

Patton pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Oh, I’m sorry, Anxiety, did I wake you up?”

Virgil shakes his head, pushing himself upright. Patton doesn't seem mad. He definitely wasn't distracted by any noises Virgil made, then- definitely wasn't Malice's accomplice somehow, either, not unless they're all playing a long game specifically to fuck with him. “Nah, you’re good, I was getting up anyway.” His eyeshadow’s probably fucked by now, geez. “‘Scuse me.” He steps into the bathroom and smudges dark thumbprints around his remaining eye, black enough that they hide the glint. The empty socket is still covered, but he dabs eyeshadow around the gauze anyway. Gotta keep up that emo style.

Patton is standing in the middle of the living room with a faint frown when he comes back out, and Virgil swallows back his nerves. Shit, did Princey not tell him he let Virgil stay? Or maybe he _does _hate Virgil enough to take a day trip to the Dark Side- no. Focus, Virgil. That doesn't even make sense. “Think we might need to have Logan take another look at your bandages, kiddo,” Patton says, and Virgil blinks and looks again, trepidation fading to something manageable. There's blood on one of the blankets, and now that he thinks about it his hoodie feels a little sticky, too. Great. Patton bundles the blanket up and flicks it away before Virgil can offer to clean it up and gives Virgil a concerned look when he moves closer. 

"You, uh, need any help with breakfast?"

"You don't have to do anything, Anxiety. You're a guest!"

"Yeah, but-" _I'd like to work off this debt, _"I feel weird not doing something. Can I, I dunno, set the table or something?"

Patton bites his lip. "Sure? But if it pulls on any of your injuries you gotta stop."

Virgil smiles at him, relieved, and Patton beams back, though he still hovers when Virgil starts collecting silverware. He's just set the table when Roman and Logan get downstairs, and when Patton starts to set down plates he helps with that, too, only stopping when Patton places food down at the fourth seat at the table. Virgil hadn't even given that place a fork. "Um, what-?"

"Well, you're here too, aren't you?" Patton asks, an odd expression flashing over his face. "'Course you should eat breakfast with us! Oh, but if you're still too tired I can put it in the fridge, it's not a problem!"

Virgil stares down at the French toast. It's absolutely smothered in powdered sugar, blueberries, and slices of strawberry, and Patton's put a knife and fork just next to them, like he doesn't think anything about giving Virgil a weapon. Granted, it's like the tamest knife in existence and probably wouldn't cut a piece of plastic, but- _still_.

He's eaten with the Light Sides a couple times before. Once on Christmas, when Roman made an effort at the most extravagant cookies in existence and succeeded, so gleeful he shoved a few in Virgil's hands just to fish for compliments. Another time after a long day of filming, when Patton had leftover pasta and Virgil hadn't caused too much trouble. 

He's never been with them for a full breakfast like this, around the table like on TV. He doesn't even know what to _do_\- of course he knows table manners, since Thomas does, but how is he supposed to act right now? Is he supposed to make small talk? What _is_ small talk? "Thanks," he says awkwardly, trying not to choke up, and Patton smiles at him more softly before taking his own place at the table.

Virgil sits, scanning the other Sides for examples of how to behave. Logan's spreading Crofters jam onto his food with the kind of intensity usually reserved for heart surgery; Roman's eating distractedly, rambling about a new idea to Patton in between bites. Virgil feels like he's skirting at the edges of their perception, there but not there, like when he used to hide up on their Side when he was younger and less able to defend himself. It's stupidly comforting.

When he was little and scared of his own shadow, he used to crawl up to the Light Side at night and hide in their Commons, squeezing himself behind their couch or on top of the fridge. He was able to fold up in their cabinets when he was much smaller, before he got his first growth spurts. He heard their conversations, bruised and petrified in his hiding places: listened to them fight and play and make up, wished himself smaller when their voices came too close. Sometimes he even dared to sneak upstairs, cowering outside their rooms and trying to force himself to knock. 

He never _did_ knock, but as Thomas started high school he started showing up more, skittering in his peripheral vision and intimidating him quiet. He saw every new person as a threat, someone waiting for the chance to drug Thomas or beat him up, watching eagerly for any sign of weakness. He told him not to be weak- to dress in dark clothes and keep people back, hide any unusual interest so the majority wouldn't turn on him. It took him a while to realize that the real world wasn't as similar to the Dark Side as he thought.

It makes _sense, _obviously: real people have entire matrices of personality, not singular purposes. They don't all form together in a shifting swarm of primal impulse- don't spend their early years half-conscious and terrified or grow up knowing there are no consequences to their actions. 

The only rules the Dark Side has are obligation and power, and that's only because if they didn't have _any _rules nothing would make sense. It's not much, but Virgil knows that Rage won't hit him if Deceit's in range because he doesn't want to get on his bad side. He knows that Malice will leave him alone if he stays out of his way and lets him fixate on other stuff instead; that Jealousy likes to pretend he's gentlemanly and sophisticated, so if Virgil isn't weak around him, he won't try to _make _him weak; that Entitlement is nearly tame as long as Virgil doesn't bring up certain topics. 

Knowing them doesn't make them safe, but it makes them predictable, and Virgil can handle _predictable_. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he doesn't know the Light Sides that well.

The French toast tastes like heaven. Virgil eats it as fast as he can, since he doesn't know how hungry the others are, then immediately feels bad. What if one of them hasn't eaten for longer? If he can save extra food for Deceit or Remus sometimes he can do it for the _Light Sides, _what is he doing-

"Do you have to molt?" Logan asks out of the blue, and it shocks Virgil out of his spiraling thoughts. He's not even sure who Logan's talking to at first. He glances at Roman and Patton, who look as lost as he feels, then back to Logan. No explanation is forthcoming.

With no other options left to him, he takes the bait. _"What?"_

"Molt," Logan says, blinking at Virgil like _he's _the one who's not making sense. Newsflash, Logan, _no one here can read your mind_. "It's defined as-"

"I don't have an _exoskeleton_," Virgil says incredulously, wondering if Logan is messing with him. Is he supposed to play along? But what if he _does_ have an exoskeleton and he just hasn't noticed? Deceit was fifteen before he mentioned offhand to Virgil that he never understood why red and yellow had different names, and then it had turned out he could only see the colors _snakes _could see. What if Virgil has something similar? He's never peeled off his skin or anything, though. He thinks he would have noticed that. "I mean. I don't think I do? So I don't think I molt."

Logan presses his lips together and nods. "Considering the process that spider molts entail, I believe you would have _had _to notice if you had some form of outer shell. You would have had to flex your way out of the old exoskeleton in order to complete the process. It's really quite fascinating."

Virgil imagines removing his skin and having to wait for new skin to harden afterward and shudders. _Not_ an image he needed after a nightmare. "Sure. Whatever you say."

"If you'd like, I could direct you to a few resources-"

"Hey, Anxiety," Roman cuts in, fielding a glare from Logan, "on the subject of conspicuous subject changes, because I refuse to hear any more of whatever creepy weirdness Teach is trying to lecture us on- what kind of shampoo do you use? If you're staying up here for a while, you'll need _some _form of amenities." 

"Are you asking for, like, flavors?" Virgil asks blankly, then corrects hurriedly, "Scents! I mean scents." Fuck Remus and fuck his influence, Jesus Christ. They're all going to think he guzzles shampoo now. That will be Virgil's legacy. "Uh, I don't really care? I've never thought about it." Usually he just uses whatever Deceit has; even in his own room's shower, he copies the other Side's taste, too preoccupied with nerves to care about his own likes and dislikes. It's like the definition of a chair: if it can't kill him, Virgil doesn't give a shit. It makes for an awkward silence at the breakfast table, though. He scrambles for some kind of preference. "Nothing too strong, I guess?"

Princey looks like he's trying not to smile. "Ah, preference noted, but. _Flavors? _You know you're not supposed to _actually_ get drunk off mouthwash."

"_Roman_, don't tease," Patton says with a faint pout. He turns to Virgil with a smile approximately the size and intensity of the Sun and says, "It's perfectly okay if Anxiety likes to eat toiletries! His tastes can't be a _cologne _of ours!" Logan groans. Virgil tries very hard not to laugh and mostly succeeds. "What about favorite foods? Thomas is going shopping soon-"

"If he can stop _procrastinating, _that is."

"So if you wanna add something to the list...?" Patton trails off hopefully. Virgil's mind freezes and goes into overdrive.

Groceries? Is that- do they want him to owe them _more? _But this is such a weird way to do that, when Logan's probably going to help change his bandages again today- but why does it matter what foods Virgil likes? It's food. He's lucky to get it at all, in the Dark Side with twenty others to contend with and the constant threat of getting drugged or beaten up or tortured- does he _have _a favorite food? Is this a trick question? _How_ would it be a trick question?

Patton's eyes are wide and worried, and he's half out of his seat. Fuck, Virgil's scaring him. He has to get it together. "Y-you don't have to answer right now if you don't want to-"

"Ice cream," Virgil blurts out before he can lose his nerve. He _never _gets ice cream in the Dark Side. It melts too fast, and he's never been able to conjure a freezer that actually works, and since it's sweet, it's in high demand- Ice cream. Yeah. That's something he can ask for. The Light Sides probably like it, too. "Is that, um. Is that okay?"

"It's perfect," Patton whispers, eyes shimmering. Logan gives him a disturbed look. 

"Cool. Thanks. For the food. I mean. You didn't have to." He _really _didn't. Virgil knows firsthand that Sides can go a lot longer without food than Thomas, if they don't have a choice.

Patton's smile wavers. "Didn't have to what?"

The look in his eyes is _wrong, _strange and scared and tight at the edges in a way that constricts Virgil's chest. His heart skips like eight beats. "I think I'm still bleeding," he blurts out, way louder than he meant to, and then cringes because _seriously, what the hell. _It successfully changes the subject, though; Patton startles into motion, sweeping up the used plates on the table and depositing them neatly in the sink. The weird look disappears and is replaced with outright worry, which is at least manageable. Virgil doesn't understand how Patton can be so _nice. _

"Anxiety, I'm so sorry, I _completely_ forgot," he babbles, making Virgil feel more guilty with every syllable. "Does it hurt? Oh, you don't have to answer that- Logan, you don't mind, right-"

"Well, no, but- Patton, careful with that jar!" 

"Perhaps you should move over to the couch," Princey suggests, rising to his feet. 

"I don't need _coddling_," Virgil protests awkwardly. He hunches into his hoodie, wishing he could pull up the hood but knowing it'd be too obvious a show of weakness. Not that they haven't seen him worse, but... Virgil doesn't want to seem _completely_ pathetic. He's supposed to be intimidating. He's supposed to protect _Thomas._

Logan goes and gets the first aid kit. Patton stops fluttering around the kitchen, and Princey loiters awkwardly at the edge of the couch, like he's not sure whether he's supposed to sit or stand. Virgil glances over at them, embarrassed and humiliated, and an inexplicable shiver runs down his spine, like he's being watched. 

His wrists are still red. It's definitely his overactive imagination, but he swears they seem a little worse than the day before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of curiosity, does anyone want a fic gifted to them, bc I'm supposed to be trying to do more prompts and it's the holiday season
> 
> Can't promise anything, but I'm on break in like a week and a half so I'll have time...?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update, but at least it's typical for this fic? Things have been wild.
> 
> On a related note, this is turning out MUCH longer than in the original outline, so I've changed the chapter count and it may change again.
> 
> Bit of a filler chapter, but it’s needed, unfortunately.

Virgil hoards food. Everyone hoards food, even Sides like Malice and Rage, because food is a limited commodity and they all need to eat at least sometimes. If you don't have a continuous supply, you risk getting caught outside your room, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If, like Virgil, you sometimes fall into anxious or depressive funks where you try to sleep through entire days because you hate yourself and everything around you and what's the point of existing or risking yourself to eat or making yourself even _ more of a target- _

It's nice to have something stored nearby, is his point. Too bad it's not an excuse for stealing food and _ forgetting about it. _

"Are these fruit roll-ups?" Roman asks incredulously, holding one up. Virgil, who just had to take off his hoodie and got showered in non-perishables, glowers and tries not to shake. At least Princey didn't notice the fruit cups. "How much did you _ take?" _

"Not that much," Virgil says defensively, breath catching as Logan unwraps the bandages around his chest again. They're soaked through, wounds weeping freely, and as the wrappings come loose Virgil goes dizzy with pain. It's the same breathless alarm that goes through him when he's first injured, all survival instinct with nowhere to go, and he shuts his mouth on instinct, goes quiet and shivery. He’s injured. The others just found out he’s been stealing their food. This is not the time to provoke anyone. "I'll put 'em back," he mumbles.

"You can keep them," Patton blurts out. “They’re just fruit roll-ups, not-”

Logan pulls another bandage loose, and Virgil bucks forward with a choked cry. “Almost done,” Logan says, then drops the last of the bandages in the bowl by his feet and adds censoriously, "Anxiety, I'm not sure you stitched these correctly." 

"That's how I always stitch things," Virgil says, miffed. Roman stiffens, and he adds hurriedly, "Not that I'm saying you're wrong, just," he wracks his brain, "I guess I couldn't turn around so well this time?" Or he got lazy. Laziness is a known trait of his. 

"That's... likely the reason," Logan says, making a face. "If you could create more, I might be able to close your wounds more effectively."

That's a hell of an offer. If Virgil didn't already owe them, he would turn it down, but at this point that'd just be dumb. Not like he isn't screwed already, right? "Sure, just hand me the old stuff." Logan passes them over, still dripping with blood; he’s wearing blue rubber gloves, like Thomas wore in all his college labs, and the sight makes Virgil want to smile for some stupid reason. Labs stressed Thomas out. There's no reason to smile, and yet, well, here he is. Probably he's just going delirious.

Virgil focuses some of his power and scours the bundled webbing clean of blood, leaving it gray-white and clumped into a little ball. Roman scrunches his nose at it. "Why would you need the old we- _oh_, sweet Cinderella’s glass slippers.”

Virgil chews and swallows. “What?”

“You _ eat _it? Why would you ever eat it?” Princey demands, looking halfway to an aneurysm. Virgil almost expects him to swoon like an old Victorian lady.

Some opportunities are too good to pass up. Virgil says, smirking, “Tastes like chicken. What, you don't eat stuff you make?"

"When it's _food _I do," Roman says incredulously. "Not when it was just covered in blood from stitching my unhealed _wounds_."

"Weak," Virgil drawls. Shrugging right now is a bad idea, but he can roll his eyes fine, so he does. "And what d'you think meat is? That's covered in blood and you eat it for protein."

Roman's lip twitches. "Are. Are you implying that eating a hamburger is equivalent to eating raw meat you take from your own body? That I'd be willing to eat, say, my own _leg_ uncooked if given the opportunity? Is that the argument you've chosen here?"

Put that way, it sounds incredibly stupid, but Virgil's chosen dumber hills to die on. "Are you saying you _wouldn_'t eat your own leg if you had to?"

"I'm _saying-"_

"Anxiety," Logan cuts in, "web, please." Virgil startles, because he'd actually _forgotten _about the Side being nice enough to stitch his wounds after he fucked up his own first aid.

"Sorry," he says, shrinking a little in shame, and draws a long string from his mouth, wrapping it around his finger like a spool of yarn. Roman leans in to poke at it and he hisses on reflex.

"That's not very spidery behavior," Princey says, sounding unimpressed. Virgil raises his free hand and flips him off. "And a spider would be able to give me the finger with all eight legs. Really, as a monster you're quite disappointing." Virgil rolls his eyes.

"Roman, that's not nice! He can be as spidery as he wants to be."

Patton sounds distracted; he's staring at Virgil's bare chest with a stricken expression. Virgil glances down at it and winces; yeah, that's a lot of cuts, and some of them are getting a little inflamed. The rest of his bruises have darkened to a sickly blackish-purple where they aren't blue, and the burns have started to blister worse. If he leaves them, he knows from experience, the blisters'll get huge and impossible to deal with. Usually he pops them before then and slathers them in antibiotic cream. Probably not a good decision, but he's not actually known for those, so. He can deal. "I can just pop those if you want," he offers.

"Don't, they might get infected," Logan says, preoccupied. He takes that moment to press the edges of one of the worst cuts together and stitch it closed, and Virgil hisses through his teeth. There's the other part of this whole situation that's giving him deja vu: the few times he's been hurt bad enough that Remus had to distract him, it's because Deceit was behind him doing something incredibly painful to a wound. Virgil's an ace at keeping up conversation by now. Usually he can ignore it, keeping his breath shallow and fast and his words pointless, but now that Logan's moving on to the bigger cuts-

Virgil knows it's stupid, but suddenly he can't make noise. His throat's blocked up, shoulders shrinking in without permission. He's in the Commons, not in his room where he can hide, and if there's one thing that's been drilled into him since he formed, it's that he shouldn't attract attention while he's weak. Never mind that he's on the Light Side and all of its inhabitants are already in the room, never mind that they've already seen him injured- this would be the perfect time for a sneak attack. The others could use Virgil as bait and ambush the Light Sides while they're distracted, stalk up and tear them all screaming apart, _destroy Thomas' mind_-

Another cool touch to his back. Logan murmurs a warning, but Virgil doesn't hear it, doesn't really register the sounds as words. His eyes are squeezed shut, only his one spider eye keeping watch. His breathing slows. They're hiding. They can't be seen. He has to listen for danger.

Every Dark Side has some kind of animal trait. Deceit's venomous and can sense body heat if he really tries. Malice can walk silently and hear a pin drop all the way across the house. Rage has an eagle's eyesight, Greed is weirdly flexible, and Remus can regenerate limbs if given enough time, though Virgil's not sure if that's an animal thing or just the Duke being weird as shit.

Virgil, being a spider, has a few more tricks up his sleeve than just an extra set of eyes. _Listening_ is one of them.

The ground vibrates with every movement of another Side. The air shifts with their breath. Virgil can feel Princey's restless pacing, Patton's fidgety nervousness, Logan's calm and steady work. He can feel the creak of the air conditioning through the vents, the vague white noise hum of the refrigerator, the pitter-patter of a mouse in the kitchen that probably escaped from the Imagination. No unexpected footsteps, no bated breathing. No ambush.

Relief is a sickly feeling, mingled so thoroughly with rising panic. Four seconds in, seven seconds holding his breath, eight seconds out. It's fine. Everything's fine. He has to calm down.

Virgil shivers, trying to tear himself away from the impulse to keep listening until he's _sure._ He can't have another panic attack in front of the Light Sides, not when they're being so nice and helping him. He can't inconvenience them. If there's a threat, he'll just have to help them deal with it after it comes.

Virgil sucks in a breath, wincing at the scrape of Logan's finger against one of his wounds, and forces his eyes open to Patton staring at him. His heartbeat quickens. _Oh god oh shit something _is _wrong-_ "Pat? Everything okay?"

"I was gonna ask you that," Patton says with a nervous smile. He's biting his lip, wringing his hands in his lap. Virgil feels nauseous with guilt. He knew he shouldn't have spaced out. God, he can already imagine how much worse this would be if he _had _freaked out completely. "You kinda went away for a little there."

"It's good," Virgil assures him. "I was just, uh. Vibing." The pun makes his lip quirk, even as shame at worrying Patton _again _clenches in his chest. "You know. Checking the ground. It's nothing to worry about."

Princey's brow furrows. "Checking the _ground?"_

"Hold on," Logan says suddenly, coming around to face Virgil and making him jump. It aggravates fucking _everything _on his body. _Ow_. "You can- can you _sense vibrations?"_

Patton perks up. "I think technically we can all do that, kiddo. At least, that's what I _hear."_ Logan groans. "But you could still be right, Lo. I'm sure we can play it by _ear."_

"_Sounds_ like a plan," Virgil mutters, and Patton giggles outright. Virgil's chest loosens.

Logan glares at them both. "I _meant_ to ask if you could sense them in a way that we can't. If you can, that would be- well, frankly, it would be fascinating. I don't even understand how that would work, outside of fictitious earthbending."

Virgil flushes. Yeesh, if he'd known it'd get this much attention, he wouldn't have mentioned it. "It's nothing _interesting_. I can just feel stuff around me sometimes, but like. Not sound."

"Like a spider in a web," Logan says, half to himself. "Do you have a web?"

"What would I even do with one?" Virgil grumbles. The tips of his ears feel hot. "No, I just make silk sometimes. Sometimes I tape it to my walls."

"Ah," Roman says, like he's having a revelation. "Of course! For the villain aesthetic, like Cirith Ungol."

"_Exactly_. Gives it a total creepy feel, it's like the easiest housekeeping ever." Plus it matches his curtains and the cat pillow, which is a plus. Virgil works with black, purple, and hints of white. Deceit might give him shit over his style choices, but the emo color scheme is there to stay. It's _not _a phase.

"It... does sound pretty creepy," Patton offers weakly. "Um. Skittery, even. With lots of legs and poison."

"I definitely don't have extra legs," Virgil promises, trying for a smile. _How_ could he have forgotten Patton's phobia, this is literally his _job_\- "Or poison."

"Venom," Logan corrects. He prompts Virgil to lift his arms so he can reach a cut on his side, and Virgil grimaces. This is taking way too long. He never should've accepted Logan's help. How much of the other Side's schedule is getting thrown off for this?

"How would you know?" Roman asks, cutting into his thoughts. He's grinning a little. "Have you _bitten_ people, Anxiety?"

"Do you _really_ want me to answer that, Princey?"

"It's just a question," Roman says, sounding kind of offended, and it makes something in Virgil's heart warm. Hell if he knows why, but he got to sleep up here last night, and no one harassed him or made him get up, and Patton gave him food and let him keep even more for later- call it an animal instinct, maybe. He has fruit roll-ups in his pockets and a pile of blankets on the couch. They're letting him heal before they demand anything serious for all the favors they've done him. This is more security than he's felt in years.

It's hard to believe, he knows, but right now life doesn't feel so bad.

*

Virgil stays on the couch for a week, following the others around when he's able and resting only at Patton or Logan's insistence.

Thomas is working on videos for his second channel, so the Sides are only needed when they're advising, not for anything official. That means Virgil can chill on the stairs, offering input but mostly drowsing as his body heals. It means he can stop watching his back every second, too, which is _unbelievably_ relaxing. He can sleep without worrying about defending his room, because he's not even in his room to be attacked. He can breathe easy, even if it's only for as long as the Light Sides will tolerate his presence while he's too injured to defend himself down below.

It's not like he's completely useless. Patton won't let him cook meals, citing that same stuff about him being a _guest _like they don't all live in Thomas' mind, but he'll let Virgil hand him ingredients or measure them out. Logan will let Virgil keep him company while he's working, and sometimes even asks for his input.

And Princey, well. He spends a lot of time complaining about Virgil giving him second opinions for someone who keeps specifically seeking them out. He lost plausible deniability the moment he woke him up at one in the morning to help him brainstorm a villain's motives.

Virgil knows it can't last. His room's in the Dark Side. Deceit and Remus are in the Dark Side, and he owes them so much at this point that it'd be a dick move to just leave and not even keep bringing them food when he manages to get extra. Right now they won't be expecting him to be out and about, since that'd be asking for trouble, but in another week-

Well. Virgil will have to enjoy this reprieve while he has it, is all he's saying. And then he'll have to pay the Light Sides back however he can, for their unbelievable lenience- for their _kindness. _And then he'll have to go back to sleeping with his face to the door, in case someone tries their luck in breaking in.

And then he'll have to face Malice again, which shouldn't be a problem, except-

Except-

Virgil's been staying on the Light Sides' couch for a week, saturated in warmth and comfort. He's been as safe as he's ever been in his life, and he should feel like it, there's no reason he _shouldn't. _

But every night, without fail, he closes his eyes and wakes up in chains.

Then, on the couch, he wakes up _screaming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted late, may be edited for flow later but plot won't change.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan delivers helpful exposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine is killing me. I'm dying, Squirtle.
> 
> TW's at end notes.
> 
> Any edits will be for flow/grammar and not plot.

There's blood welling up in Virgil's mouth.

Malice slaps him again, harder, claws catching and tearing at his cheek, but Virgil doesn't open his eyes; he keeps them squeezed shut, even as his arms wrack with tremors from where they're chained above his head, even as the other Side snarls under his breath and draws a knife with an audible _ssshing. _It's not real. It can't be real, because he fell asleep on the Light Sides' couch at four in the morning, and Princey wouldn't suffer another Dark Side's intrusion without a fight.

He could have fought and lost, though. The thought nags at Virgil, digging in teeth. What if Princey's tied up here, too? What if he's gagged or unconscious, beaten but alive, what if he's begging for Virgil to see him, help him, because he's a Dark Side too, isn't he, shouldn't he know how to stop this? Shouldn't he be able to rein Malice in? But Malice isn't like that, he's not _made _for that, all they can do is push him and the others into the dark where they belong, where they _all _belong-

"It's almost like you _want_ to be blind, Anxiety," Malice says, conversational. "Is that it? Are you tired of seeing?" The cold tip of a knife presses up into the underside of Virgil's chin, forcing his head up. His breath quickens. Not real, this isn't real, get it _together, _Virgil. He's dreaming. Aren't people supposed to be able to control their dreams once they're aware of them? "Nothing to say?" The point pushes past his skin, making Virgil choke out a whimper. Fuck, fuck, if he just opens his eyes he'll _see_ him, can read his body language, maybe have an idea of what he'll do next- "Say something," Malice says, devilishly light, "or I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

_God. _"You're not real," Virgil whispers, squeezing his eyes shut against a flood of tears. His wrists are crossed over his head, chafed and bleeding; he can feel blood trickling down his forearms, dripping warm onto his face and hair. Every inhale makes his ribs scream for mercy. Even his bruises have bruises, and if he moves- and he always moves, whenever Malice hits him he can't help but jerk back, try to get away, his own inborn reflexes working against him- his cuts reopen, tearing at the seams like badly-made fabric, like they'd never been healing at all. When he breathes it sounds like a death rattle. His throat burns with a dry rasping ache when he swallows.

He's _cold_. Malice's room is always so cold.

His feet barely touch the ground on tiptoes, just enough that he can push himself upright, keep him from suffocating at the strain on his diaphragm. If he could stop being such a moron, could work past his own nature for one measly second, he could let himself hang, smother himself to death- but he can't. He's Anxiety, fear of death and damage, the urge to _live live live_ that dogs Thomas' mind and keeps him from making reckless mistakes. In this situation, trapped and threatened by a predator, his survival instincts go into overdrive. He can't escape, so he has to hold on. Nothing will convince the back of his mind that his death won't be permanent.

Probably a good thing. If he managed to _convince_ himself to die, who knew what it would do to Thomas. He could be kidnapped and not even bother to escape, just slit his wrists and bleed out because he thought it wouldn't matter. He could see an oncoming truck and not bother to dodge. He could _die_, and Virgil would be responsible, would never see any of his friends again, because protecting Thomas is his job and he'd have _failed_. Deceit's form of self-preservation would be meaningless, since no one could lie their way out of getting _run over_. They'd all be wiped out in one painful instant, bones cracking and crushing into organs, Thomas made into so much _meat_-

A knife slams into his stomach. Virgil screams, doubling over, but the chains hold him straight, force him to keep the wound exposed. The pain drives him out of his mind. "Does that feel real?" Malice asks. Virgil can't help it; he looks at him through agonized tears, blurry and reeling, and Malice says, "Can't have you getting distracted, can we? You're supposed to be paying attention to _me_."

Virgil tries to muster up a response, but he- he can't, his mind is, it _hurts- _Malice moves forward and he chokes out, "_Please_," tries to pull back. The gash in his stomach gushes out blood. In real life he'd be dead already, so this is a nightmare, right? He can't stop the pain, though, can't make himself wake up. He's as trapped as if he were in Malice's room for real.

Malice touches his cheek. "You can't think they'll let you hide up there forever." His eyes glow like embers. "Sooner or later they'll get tired of you, you know. They'll decide they can't have you around, polluting Thomas' mind. You might be a fun little plaything now, but it's never going to last, Anxiety. Offer them _anything _you like-" His hand drifts down, brushing across Virgil's torn-up chest, down to the bone of his hip. Virgil whimpers through his teeth. "But it won't matter, in the end. There's no part of you worth keeping."

His touch dips lower, tracing along Virgil's hip till his fingers press into his inner thigh, horribly sensual. "Mal, _stop," _Virgil begs, because he can't, he really _can't, _even if this is just a dream. Malice's eyes go bright with triumph, but he steps back, taking his hand away. Virgil shudders in a breath and wishes he knew how not to cry.

"I'm not real, remember? What does it matter how far I go? It's nothing your _friends _won't be doing to you, soon enough."

"They won't," Virgil spits, knee-jerk. "They- they're not _like that, _Thomas wouldn't let them-"

Malice smiles and says, viciously soft, "Thomas _hates_ us. He doesn't even know we exist_, _but he hates everything we represent. Sunday school told him all about original sin, do you remember? All the evil living deep down inside him, and how he'd have to fight it to get into Heaven. It made us form down here in the dark where we _belong. _Do you really think he'll suffer you to come up into the light? You think he'll intervene for a figment of his imagination? Someone who's caused him nothing but trouble, a walking talking reminder of everything in him he loathes? Think again, Anxiety. Think about what he'll do when you overstay your welcome. Think about what _they'll _do."

He reaches up and touches Virgil's wrists, digs his nails in to make him cry out. He can feel the blood welling up again, making the shackles slick and sickeningly warm. Malice's burning eyes gleam, and the chains start to heat up, searing into his skin, _melting it warping it god make it _stop-

"They're going to tear you apart," Malice whispers, and Virgil's screaming but he can still hear it, clear like the words went straight to his brain, "You pathetic little freak, it's only a matter of time. If you're smart, you'll get out before they _stop pretending."_

*

Virgil thrashes awake and kicks out, pushing off the couch and landing on the floor with a stifled, agonized scream. He's gasping, scrabbling, frantically defensive, and he has to stop crying, he _has _to, he's being too loud. He can't afford to make them mad. He curls into himself on the floor, breathing raggedly, and stares teary-eyed at the carpet. He's shivering. He has to stop doing that, too.

Heavy footsteps crash down the stairs. The lights switch on, and Virgil flinches, shielding his eyes against the sudden glare. Fear blocks up his voice.

_Think about what they'll do when you overstay your welcome. _Virgil's asking for trouble if he doesn't get up right now. He has to get up. He has to be useful for once in his miserable existence, has to justify his continued presence in their space. If he doesn't, they might not keep waiting till he's healthier before demanding what they're owed. They might decide he's ready _now_.

His feet shake when he gets them under him. He forces his knees to unbend, but they won't hold his weight, they _buckle-_

Warm hands on his arms, another body shouldering his weight. He smells tea and printer paper, ink and cool water, and Logan deposits him gently back onto the couch without a hint of strain. His dress shirt is rumpled, tie loose around his neck. His hair is sticking up in the back.

He's pale. What if he's sick? What could that do to Thomas, what if it's Virgil's fault? "Logan," he says dumbly. "You're awake?" He flinches immediately after, expecting to be hit for such an obvious statement, or for ruining the other Side's sleep schedule, or _something, _but Logan only stares at him, tense as a drawn bow.

He says, almost hesitant, "I heard screaming."

"Sorry." Logan's above him. Everything hurts, and Logan has the high ground, has him _cornered_. "L- no, sorry, _Logan, _sorry- I didn't mean to wake anyone up. I just- nightmares. I'm Anxiety, they happen. I swear I didn't mean to wake you up." His thoughts are muddy with terror. "I swear, it's not, it wasn't on _purpose_, I'm not trying to mess with you-"

"_Anxiety_," Logan says, voice catching. "I need you to breathe with me. Can you do that?"

"I owe you," Virgil says, or thinks he says; he can't breathe, can't think, can't even keep his body still. It's an answer in itself- a _yes, _because of course he can do that, he'll do whatever Logan wants. He's not in any position to refuse.

Logan draws in a sharp breath, something like anger flashing over his face, but all he says is, "Breathe with me. In for one, two, three, four. Hold for one, two, three, four, five..."

Virgil breathes, following Logan's voice, and his heart slows. His hands stop shaking. Four seconds in. Hold for seven. Eight seconds out.

Four seconds in. Hold for seven. Eight seconds out.

Four seconds in... "Fuck," Virgil finally says, when the panic starts to recede. Humiliation crashes down like a wave. "I can't believe I woke you up for that."

"It's no trouble," Logan says, still pale. "You're a part of Thomas, albeit a twitchy, overzealous part; there is no reason for me to deny you help. In addition, it would be remiss of me to ignore the possibility that you might have nightmares after a traumatic experience. I anticipated that my assistance might be needed at some point."

"I'm not _overzealous_," Virgil says, because Thomas _should _be afraid, always, so he'll be safe- "But, uh. Thanks."

"I believe this is where the helpful party says 'no problemo'," Logan says. "Though there is in fact a 'problemo', in that your wrists are bleeding."

Virgil glances down at them and groans. "Are you _kidding_ me."

"Have you been picking at them?" Virgil grimaces and shakes his head. "Hm. Well, I suppose I might as well bandage them again."

"Don't bother, I can get 'em." He glares at his wrists, which are someone bleeding _worse_ than they did after Deceit helped him escape. Maybe he's picking at them in his sleep. Logan summons a roll of bandages and hands it to him; Virgil draws a string of silk from his mouth and binds them carefully to his skin.

"How'd you get so good at this stuff, anyway?" Virgil asks. Logan looks up from watching Virgil work, blinking owlishly from behind his glasses. Tenderness hits Virgil's heart like a punch. "First aid stuff, I mean. I know how _I _learned it, but there's no way Patton falls down the stairs _that_ often. And Princey doesn't get hurt unless Thomas gets his ego crushed, right?"

"Not exactly." Logan sighs. "Roman, for reasons beyond my understanding, loves to go _ adventuring _in his spare time. When we were younger, he was much more reckless about it and often came home injured." A frown. "You were hanging around at that time. Don't you remember?"

Teenage years, Roman injured... yeah, Virgil remembers. He was wrapping himself in _ emo _ with the glee of an orb weaver finding the perfect frame for a web, angry and vicious and starting to understand how much Thomas _ needed _him. He noticed Roman coming back with broken fingers or bandaged arms, bruises on his face as he moved more stiffly than usual- noticed Patton's concerned looks and Logan's vague irritation- but it hadn't hit him as anything unusual. Virgil had always been hurt somewhere, too. 

"I think I assumed you were beating him up," Virgil says, laughing a little. The relief at finding out they _ weren't _ is sweet and surprising. "Thomas was having a lot of problems with his stories back then. Guess I kinda figured you got fed up with it." He keeps his tone rueful, but he doesn't remember being anywhere near so blase about it when it was still happening. He'd sniped and snarled and worried that maybe Thomas' main Creativity was going to stop working and did Princey need food? Should Virgil offer an alliance like he had with Dee and Remus, would Roman even _ take it, _did this mean one of the others was violent-

Yeah. In retrospect it wasn't that funny.

Logan is frozen in his seat. “You… what?”

“I- I mean, he was hurt a lot,” Virgil says uncertainly. “I know you get along better now-”

“We’ve never _ hit _ him,” Logan blurts out, and his body is one long line of tension, hands gripping the armrests like they’re all that’s holding him up. “Anxiety, that’s- none of us have ever hit each other, not since Thomas was eleven. Certainly not as some sort of _ punishment _.”

“What, like never?” Virgil asks, and he’s almost smiling, he’s so incredulous. “Come on, I know you’ve been mad at each other before. I can understand not hitting _ Patton- _ ” mostly because the thought sickens him, and god what if they had what if they _ did- _ “but you and Princey fight all the time.” He shrugs, shrinking back at Logan’s continued silence, and says, harsher than he meant to, “Don’t act like you’ve never wanted to beat _ me _up.”

“Of _ course _ I haven’t!” Logan snaps, and Virgil flinches at the burst of sound. “You- this _ whole time, _ you- you’ve been, what? Assuming we hurt each other? That we'd hurt you? You thought we had _ beaten _ Roman and considered it normal, that we’d attack you for _ being injured-” _

“It’s not like I didn’t try to help!” Virgil hisses, heart hammering. Logan’s _ mad mad mad _ but he thinks it’s like how Deceit gets mad, snarling and heated words but no real threat- “I tried to give him food! He thought I was trying to poison him, and people call _ me _paranoid-”

“That’s not the point!” Logan shrills. “Anxiety, I, I know we were avoiding this discussion-” They were? That’s news to _ Virgil- _ “but whatever happened in the Dark Side is _ wrong! _Objectively!”

Virgil recoils like he’s been slapped. “Logan, it’s- it's not like we’re _ real _. We can’t get permanent damage. It doesn’t matter what we do to each other, we’re just figments of Thomas’ mind."

“You flinch at loud noises,” Logan says, rattling it off like a fucking grocery list. “You had a panic attack when we saw you were injured. Last month you kept one of your hands hidden in your pocket for every interaction, the month before you didn’t appear at all, four months and twelve days ago you said, and I _ quote_, ‘_pretty sure I’ve had worse’ _ after Roman accidentally cut you with his sword, and clearly I’m a fool because I assumed you were _ joking!” _

What the _fuck. _"That's how Dark Sides- that's how we _are," _Virgil says, bristling. "We represent horrible things that Thomas has to deny. It's pointless worrying about what we do to _each other_. All that matters is whether any of th- any of us can do the same to _you_."

"You're equating yourself with Malice?" Logan snaps incredulously, like that's some kind of _affront_. "You, Anxiety? Don't be ridiculous."

_That _hurts like a punch to the face. Virgil hisses, trying to hide it, and the room's shadows darken around them. "I'm not a fucking _weakling! _Just because I don't, what, get my rocks off on _torture-"_

"What? No. You're misinterpreting me," Logan says, looking more taken aback now than mad. Virgil blinks, thrown. "I meant to express confusion that you consider yourself as detrimental to Thomas' well-being as the likes of Apathy and Irrationality."

Virgil widens his eyes pointedly at him. "No shit, Sherlock, of course I do. We're Dark Sides. We all formed in the same place. Of course we're bad."

"Your having formed in the same part of the mind as more malevolent aspects of Thomas' mind does not necessarily make you as bad as they are," Logan says, eyes narrowing. Virgil doesn't know how to _start _explaining how wrong he is. "We were all incredibly mutable in Thomas' early years; each of us could have developed in a number of ways, depending on Thomas' life experiences. I suspect that the so-called Dark Side, by virtue of sitting closer to Thomas' Subconscious, merely housed the traits less likely to develop fully before Thomas reached adulthood."

What? "You're gonna have to spell that out for me, Teach."

"Gladly." A whiteboard appears just behind where Logan's standing in front of the couch, and Logan takes a few steps back, marker materializing in his hand. He draws three boxes: the top one says LIGHT/MAIN, the middle says DARK/REPRESSED, and the bottom says SUBCONSCIOUS. He clears his throat.

"At a young age, Thomas was socialized to believe that a child's main purpose was to be curious, playful, and _good. _Other natural tendencies- the savage aspects of human nature, for instance, or the deceptive and dominating parts of social interaction, or even instinctive fear of threats- weren't validated in the same way. When Thomas lied, he was scolded; when he was afraid, he was told that there was nothing to be scared of; and when he lashed out or struck another child, he was punished. The result was that Patton, the original Creativity, and I became the primary influences on Thomas' personality, while you, Deceit, and eventually the Duke, once Thomas began to suppress his darker thoughts, were formed in and relegated to what we now call the Dark Side. It just so happened that Thomas' less useful vices, repressed from an early age and never fully developed, were consigned to the same place."

Virgil tries to wrap his head around that and fails, like he does at most things in his life. Great. "So I'm... not fully developed?"

"_Completely_ incorrect. Please try to listen to what I'm saying." Virgil makes a face. "You developed from survival instinct into Thomas' anxiety, and because you didn't clash completely with the main tenets of his personality- that is, with us- you were able to influence him more deeply. I would hazard that Deceit, being one of the two Sides responsible for most of Thomas' repression, is also fully developed. Most likely the Duke, too, considering Thomas' trouble with intrusive thoughts. As for the others-" Logan shrugs. "They exist in the Mindscape, but their influence on Thomas is minimal to nonexistent. They were formed _in potentia, _when Thomas' future was still uncertain. Because his religious beliefs put such an emphasis on the innate fallibility of man, they remain, though clustered in the more figuratively shadowed parts of his mind."

Virgil says weakly, "Original sin."

"Precisely," Logan says. The whiteboard disappears. "In conclusion, Anxiety, while you may play an antagonistic role in Thomas' thoughts and in the videos, you are not innately evil, and even if you were-" His eyes flash behind his glasses, go dark and intense- "it would not be acceptable for others to abuse you." He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. "This was an oversight. We assumed that the Dark Sides lived much like us, despite marked tendencies toward sadism and aggression. Clearly that was inaccurate."

"You can say that again," Virgil says, feeling a lot like someone just hit him over the head with a blunt object. He should know; he's been hit with a lot of blunt objects in his time. The influx of information is stored somewhere in his memory, probably, but he can't sort through it just yet. He's still reeling from the _first _blow. "You don't hurt each other at _all?" _

"Of course not," Logan says, like it's self-evident, and the lingering mass of Virgil's terror collapses into sharp relief.

*

Morning brings an hour and a half of counseling Thomas on whether or not it's better to go out to eat with his aunt or work on a new song with some of his friends. Virgil chimes in a few times, mostly to discourage Thomas from going out in public or talking to strangers, but mostly spends his time commiserating with Roman over the difficulties of thinking up lyrics. All of Virgil's ideas are angsty and obviously cribbed from My Chemical Romance, in Roman's opinion; in Virgil's much better opinion, Roman's overwrought love songs are more likely to make their audience throw up than burst into sappy tears.

Okay, fine, it's not commiserating so much as it's actively arguing_, _but it ends productively, so Thomas can't complain.

Afterwards, they end up in the common room, Roman summoning a cluster of bean bags with a flick of his wrist. The lighting dims and goes blue, TV growing to twice its usual size. A cluster of controllers appears on the ground before them. Patton brings his fists to his mouth and gasps. "Is this what I think it is?"

"That depends, Padre," Princey says, spreading his arms and grinning like a showman. "Were you thinking of... extreme Mario Kart?"

Patton's eyes go wide as saucers. _"I extremely love you."_

"Is this different from normal Mario Kart?" Virgil mutters, inching closer to Logan in self-defense. His wrists still feel like they got barbecued, and the thought of the previous night still makes him burn with embarrassment, but that doesn't stop Logan from being the only other sane person in the room. Embarrassment is a risk Virgil is willing to take. And anyway...

They're not going to hurt him. Virgil knows there could be conditions, things they don't consider _hurting _but just ways of reining him in, and who knows what they count as pranks... but they won't _hurt _him. He won't be a punching bag, not now or when he's healed. Whatever they demand for letting him stay, it won't be that he submits himself to beatings, or experiments, or- or _anything_ like that. They're _still_ gonna be this nice to him. Virgil feels like flying without the weight of that constant fear.

"It has some... alterations," Logan mutters back. He plops down on a beanbag, claiming a controller. Roman takes the beanbag closest to him and steals it. Logan steals it back. There's a brief, incredibly stupid slap fight.

"Uh, Anxiety?" Patton says, and Virgil tears his attention away from the spectacle of two grown men fighting like third graders. Patton smiles at him tentatively, holding out a bowl and a spoon. "This is for you! Since you might not be able to play, 'cause of your wrists, and I remembered you asked for it special, so. I thought I'd be _ice _and get you some so you didn't have to ask!"

Virgil takes it from him. The bowl holds three scoops of vanilla ice cream, drizzled with chocolate syrup and topped off with tiny marshmallows. The marshmallows are arranged into a smiley face.

He doesn't know what his face is doing, but he doubts it looks too intimidating. Whatever. He's already lost the best parts of his reputation as it is. "Thanks," he chokes out.

Patton breathes, unabashedly delighted, "You're smiling. _Anxiety_."

"Don't shout it from the rooftops or anything," Virgil grumbles, blushing. "It's an expression. I have those."

"I've always _creamed_ of this day!" Patton exclaims, and Virgil chokes on his first bite. Over on the bean bags, Roman topples to the ground laughing.

_Oh my god. _"Pat," Virgil sputters, "_no."_

"What? What'd I say?"

"Just trust me on this, okay? That's, uh. It's like the process of becoming an adult."

"I don't see what's wrong with creaming and adultery," Patton says, bewildered, and Roman wheezes, holding his stomach. "Oh, but your ice cream's melting!"

"I think it's time you all started playing," Virgil blurts out, dropping onto his own bean bag with only a small wince. "Right, L? Princey? You're playing now?"

"Right, yes, that's, ah. That's what we're doing! Of course!" Roman scrambles for a controller, glares at an unrepentant Logan, and conjures a newer, more sparkly one. The TV flickers on to the Mario Kart start screen. He starts clicking through options. "So, friendos, which of the one hundred and twenty courses would you like to start with?"

Virgil's thoughts derail. "Hold on, which of the _how many?"_

"One hundred and twenty, Panic At The Everywhere, try to keep up," Princey says smugly. "My version of Mario Kart is much more arresting than the original."

"Mostly because altering the game in the Mindscape requires no coding knowledge whatsoever," Logan says, and Roman kicks at his ankle. "I'm sorry, Roman, did you want to say something? Can you say it in binary? Oh, wait, you can't. You don't know it."

"Bold words for a controller thief! Fortunately, I'm about to make you _eat them_."

"Even _you_ should know that words are linguistic concepts and thus incapable of being ingested-"

Patton's smiling at them both, hopelessly fond, and it brings an inexplicable warmth to Virgil's chest. It lets him voice the idea that's been pressing insistently at the back of his mind for days now, refusing to be dismissed, because if there's a way to minimize the damage he does to their plans... "Hey, uh, Patton?"

"Yes, Anxiety?" Patton turns to look at him, guileless and trusting, and Virgil forces himself not to correct him. _Virgil, my name is Virgil, call me Virge- _but. No. That's not what this is about.

"I know Thomas promised a new Sanders Sides video by next week," he says cautiously, "and, well." He motions up at the gauze pad stuck to his face, no longer bloody but still there, still _obvious, _and if he removes it there'll be an empty socket there instead. "I won't be camera ready for a while. So I was thinking, if we really want the video to come out in time..."

"We can't do the video without you in it," Patton says, starting to frown.

"Not what I was thinking." Nerves start to build up in his chest. "I was thinking, if _I _can't appear- I promise I can vouch for him, and he's kind of a huge dick sometimes but he's not _bad,_ exactly, and I think Thomas might have to meet him soon anyway-" He cuts off, face heating with humiliation. "Y'know what, never mind, stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

"Your ideas aren't stupid!" Patton protests. "Keep talking, kiddo, I wanna hear this."

Virgil braces. Not like he hasn't been shot down before, right? It's fine. It'll be like ripping off a Band-Aid. "Deceit can look like me," he says, staring at the carpet. "And, uh. Thomas has been wondering about the others for a while now, right?"

The other two are occupied with Mario Kart on the bean bags, so it's just Patton watching him, but that doesn't make Virgil feel any better. Without the insulation of silly comments or other Sides around him, Patton's gaze is as piercing as a bullet. "He's not one of the ones who hurt you, is he?" Virgil snorts.

"He got me out, actually, this last time," he admits, 'cause he_ does_ owe Deceit, that's not even an issue. "Like I said, he's a dick sometimes, but he's not violent. He'd solve all his problems with arguments if he could."

"Okay," Patton says easily. Virgil jerks his head up and stares. "We should do it. It'll be fun! He's your friend, isn't he?"

Huh. "I thought you didn't like him."

Patton bites his lip and shrugs. "I think lying is wrong," he admits, "and I'm not really _comfortable _with a lotta the others, but Thomas is almost thirty. I think he's big enough to handle some revelations." His eyes flick down to the new bandages at Virgil's wrists. "We could at least give him a chance, you know? If... since you don't think he's bad."

"He's not," Virgil promises. "Not like the others." He risks eye contact, the corner of his mouth quirking without permission, and the worst of Patton's worried expression bleeds away.

"We'll bring it up to Thomas tomorrow," he says with a nod. "Today we get to relax. And _you _get as much ice cream as you want."

Virgil kind of feels like crying, but that would be stupid, so he's not going to. No matter how much his eyes prickle. "Not gonna argue with that."

He has to take another bite of ice cream to offset the warmth in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied sexual coercion/threat of rape, assumptions of abuse, torture


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deceit arrives at the scene!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Thanks to alicat54c for beta reading!

Thomas falls asleep early for once, drifting off completely by eleven at night, and Virgil has to fight not to follow after him. He stays standing, pacing back and forth and scrolling through social media until his eyes burn, watches cringe compilations to practice shaming Thomas for things he can't control, even resorts to pinching himself. He _ won't _ wake up the Light Sides again, not after Logan had to lecture him out of a panic attack the night before. He'll stay up all night if he has to.

Sleepless nights are his area of expertise. He spends days without so much as a catnap when he gets worked up, running off caffeine and hyper-vigilance until exhaustion makes him collapse into bed. Staying up now should be a cakewalk.

It _ is _ a cakewalk until three in the morning, and then a hand closes on Virgil's wrist just at the wound. He freezes, instincts screaming to _ play dead till the predator's bored _, and blood trickles down his forearm.

Someone's breathing in his face.

The spell breaks. Virgil yelps, twisting loose, and slams into the cabinets at his back. For a long moment the world is white static, hot with agony, and he shields his face until it clears, spider eye straining for movement.

Nothing. Virgil slumps, trying to even out his breathing. Things would be so much easier if he could sleep in his _ room, _ secure in the neurotic miasma that makes it so unbearable for everyone else. The others can bust in to drag him out if he slacks on defense, but they have to actually _ get _ him out first. If he stalls long enough, stress and terror give him the upper hand.

He's safe in his room. He might be safe on the Light Side, too, but his spider brain doesn't think so. There are too many places for an enemy to hide.

He stands up and wavers, world flickering red; the air thickens with the stench of blood. "I told you they'd get sick of you," Malice says, standing in front of him, and Virgil's hurt, in chains, struggling for breath. His feet can't touch the ground. "Look at him! He's about to stick a knife in your back." The other Side traces a claw along the line of Virgil's jaw, presses a thumb over his heartbeat. "Or maybe he'll do that _ after _ he's had his fun. Do you like him, Anxiety? Do you think he cares that you do?"

Virgil can't move. He's paralyzed, like when Thomas naps too long and gets stuck, when his brain _ insists _ there's someone watching him. Malice smiles, razor-sharp, and pulls Virgil into a languid kiss. "You should know better than to go where you're not wanted," he whispers, horribly close_. _"Things like that catch up with you."

Suddenly Virgil's in control again. He wrenches himself back, choked with horror, and Malice disappears like a mirage- but Virgil can still feel the other Side's lips on his. The certainty strangles him: he's not free yet. Someone's _ here, _ behind him, waiting for their chance to strike_. _ He can _ feel it. _

A hand falls on his shoulder, and the shadows at Virgil's feet writhe out, darkening the room. He throws a wild punch, already moving, and the other Side staggers back. It's not enough, though, he's still blocking the exit, Virgil has to make sure he stays down or he'll catch up in the hallway- "Anxiety, you- stop it, you idiot, it's me!"

**"Get ** ** _away_****,"** Virgil snarls, and when the Side comes forward anyway he _ lunges_, because he's cornered and hurt and how else can he make sure he's let go, make himself too much trouble to _ keep _-

The room floods with light, and Virgil flinches back, eyes burning with tears. God god _ god _ he can't see, he can't- he bares his teeth but it's a useless threat, all they have to do is tie and gag him and he'll be _ helpless _-

"For Aurora's sake, A-wreck-nid, I'm sorry I scared you!"

Virgil blinks the tears from his eyes and ducks his head, horror freezing his veins. All the fight drains out of him. _ Princey. _ Fuck, he just tried to kill Princey for a touch to the shoulder, what the hell is wrong with him? 

"Roman," he says helplessly. "I- fuck, sorry, I thought-" He can't make excuses. "Sorry I punched you," he abbreviates, and braces. Nothing for it. "What're you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same question," Roman says heatedly. He straightens out his clothes, ruffled, but doesn't take the opportunity to hit Virgil back. "I can't believe you tried to bite me like some wild animal." His nose is bleeding. He wipes it with his sleeve and flicks out the stain, then sniffs, "And for your _information_, I was looking for you."

"For me," Virgil echoes, chest tightening. "Why?"

Roman sighs and throws himself onto a beanbag, leaving his defenses wide open. It's a totally Remus move, except for Remus it'd be like a feral cat showing its belly so it could claw up your hands, while Virgil suspects Roman is more like a house cat wanting belly rubs. _ That _ mental image shrinks Virgil's fear to a manageable trickle.

"We need another Real or Fake Anime episode," he groans, and Virgil inches closer, perching on the arm of the couch and wracking his brain for suggestions to get them safely off the topic of how he just punched Roman in the face.

"We could do harem anime, if we wanna get demonetized," he suggests. "Or, hey, yandere stuff. Teens are into that."

"What is this, 2008? Next we'll be going to MCR concerts."

"I can only pray."

"Shut up, Gerard Gay. But what else is there? I meant to ask Logan, but with all the recent commotion it slipped my mind like the poisoned apple from Snow White's hand."

Virgil thinks about it, which coincidentally gives his heart rate time to slow back to normal. "Sports anime, shonen, whatever that one with the normal dude in fantasy land is-"

"Isekai."

"Weeb." Roman makes an offended noise. Virgil risks a smirk. "What about weirdly specific schools? Like that gambling one Thomas saw on Netflix, or, I dunno, secret stalker school or something. Logan knows a ton of obscure shit, I bet you could work with him to come up with fake ones."

"Scuba dive for evil relics school," Roman tries. "Bioengineered dragon school."

"So, basically Pern."

"I'm sorry, which of us is the creative one here? Certainly not _ you, _ Fright Night, so perhaps you should keep your comparisons to yourself!" Roman glances at Virgil from the corner of his eye, oddly cautious. "Though I suppose it _is_ rather too similar... Why _ are _you up this late, by the by?"

"Why are _ you?" _Virgil asks, bristling. "Did you seriously decide to wake me up to grill me on anime?"

"Among other things," Princey says, "but I asked you first. You see, I had this sneaking suspicion you'd be awake."

Guilt coils in Virgil's gut. He's been taking up the Light Sides' living room for almost a week, and every night he's woken up screaming, or had to get help with the wounds on his back, or otherwise given way too much evidence of how stupidly weak he actually is. It's amazing that the other Sides managed to sleep at all, with the racket he makes downstairs. But to hear Roman come out and say it, tolerance finally running short-

"Did you consider that I might just not want to go to bed?" Virgil bites out, shoving his hands in his pockets. He is _ not _sleeping tonight. No way he's spending the rest of their pity on something as dumb as another nightmare. "The government tells us to sleep. Why should we listen to them?"

Roman absently conjures a sketchpad and pencil, balancing it on his knees so he can start to outline something. Virgil watches, keeping his breathing even and hoping Roman gets too distracted to continue the conversation- but instead he puts the sketch aside, barely formed, and says, "So it doesn't have anything to do with how you sometimes wake up screaming."

"And that's your business _ how?" _

Roman shrugs, picking up the sketchpad again. He's fidgeting with it, Virgil realizes, and doesn't know if he's relieved or not that the other Side seems just as uncomfortable with the conversation as him. "You think you're the only one who has nightmares?"

"You have nightmares?" Nightmares about _ what_, what's wrong, what did Virgil miss what _ happened to him- _"Logan said he didn't hurt you!"

Roman stares. "Why would _ Specs _ hurt me? I could cleave that nerd in half!"

Virgil flushes. "Never mind," he says, wishing Malice wasn't after him so he could sink right out of this conversation. "Just- it sucks that you have them, too. Thought that was _ my _purview."

"Yes, well. I _ do _love failing to meet expectations." Roman looks down at his sketchpad, pencil twirling between his fingers. "I don't normally wake up screaming, though," he adds. "That's, ah. Rather concerning."

"Sorry." Virgil glances at him. If he really does have nightmares, Virgil's never heard them. Could just be soundproofing in his room, but you'd think there would be external signs, too, like bags under his eyes or putting orange juice in cereal. "How do you deal with them?"

He's not sure what answer he's expecting- staying nights in the Imagination, probably, or counting magical sheep- but he definitely isn't ready for Roman to shrug and say, "Sleeping with others, mostly."

Virgil _ has _ to be hearing things. "What?"

Roman gives a sheepish smile. "I usually go to Logan or Patton."

Virgil turns that over in his head. Sleeping in the same bed as other Sides for comfort- that's not too different from what Deceit does for him and Remus, is it? Though Deceit wouldn't let them _ admit _ they're more than grudging allies, obviously. It's weird hearing anyone speak so freely about their weaknesses.

But whatever, they're Light Sides. Everything they do is weird. "Why Logan?"

"His room helps," Roman admits. "It's easier to keep a clear head, there."

Virgil wouldn't know. "I guess. What're they about?"

"Spillover from Remus, mostly." Roman sounds less bitter than Virgil would expect. "Sometimes his dreams blend into mine."

Virgil is surprised into a huffed laugh. "That'd explain the uni-candy-corn." At Roman's baffled expression, he expands, "Remus was complaining a ton about that around Halloween. He kept wishing for gruesome dreams and getting saccharine bullshit instead."

Roman snickers, but then his expression goes strange and hesitant, like he bit into something unexpectedly sour. "And, ah. About Remus-" 

"Yeah?" Virgil raises his eyebrows. "What about him?"

Roman isn't looking at him. "Has he- does he ever-" He sucks in a breath, fists clenching. "Has he ever _ hurt _ you?"

What? _ "Remus?" _

"Yes," Roman bites out. "I understand if you don't want to answer, but knowing the usual content of his thoughts, I- I have to ask-"

Right, darker Creativity. Blood and lust and whatever impulses spring into his head- it makes sense that Roman would wonder if Remus ever takes his interests out on the others.

"No," Virgil says firmly. "Not like that. He's not- Jealousy, or whoever. He doesn't go after people just to hurt them." He shrugs, sending a twinge through his bandaged shoulders. "Mostly he just hangs out with Deceit and fucks around."

"So he's like you, then," Roman pushes. "Fighting in self-defense."

"More or less," Virgil says, trying not to rankle at the implications. He could attack someone in cold blood. He just _ doesn't. _ "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, or is that it?"

Roman yawns. "That's it, I suppose. Would you rather I leave you alone?" Virgil shrugs again, and Roman says hopefully, "Then might you wish this good knight a good night?"

"I don't know, might I?" Roman's expression falters, and Virgil says, "Good _ night_, Princey."

The other Side beams at him. "And a good night to you, Spooks and Ladders.”

He leaves. Virgil sits on the couch, nails digging into his palms, and tells himself he's only imagining the cold.

*

Virgil's alone in the Commons when he says, with all the conviction he can muster, "Thomas Sanders never used Vine in his life, and I'm offended at the thought of his face going online." 

Nothing. 

"Thomas is purely attracted to women, and he really thinks Megan Fox is hot." Crickets.

Virgil glares at the ground and forces out, "I'm _ not _ afraid of Roman."

"Now that's a lie with some weight to it," comes the smooth, sultry voice from his blind spot. There's an edge to it that makes Virgil's hackles raise, but Deceit's not the type to stab you in the back without some real provocation. He's probably fine. "Is something _wrong_, Anxiety? Perhaps something you'd like to apologize for?"

This is not the script Virgil expected to follow. He turns around, bristling, and- "Jesus _ fuck, _ what happened?" The human half of Deceit's face is bruised and swollen, and he's holding himself stiff. None of that is too strange, because Dark Sides, but there's also a slice from Deceit's lip to the corner of his scaled jaw, a slasher smile that got distracted halfway through. Someone had him _ pinned_.

Sick worry boils up Virgil's throat. "Was that my fault?" he asks, guilt flooding his lungs. "Did- fuck, I- you shouldn't have helped me, no one else would've-"

"Virgil," Deceit interrupts, and the shock of hearing his name outside one of their rooms shuts him up. "Have you been up here the entire time?"

"Yeah? I was in my room for a while, but I fucked up while we were filming, the bandages bled through. I've been up here pretty much constantly since then."

"While filming?" Deceit repeats, aghast. "In front of Thomas?" Virgil glares- yeah, it's embarrassing, laugh it up- "Dear Lord, you aren't even lying. What sort of moron are you?" 

Deceit rises from his seat, straightening his cape in a fussy motion and stalking closer, putting a hand to Virgil's face. Virgil squints up at him warily. "What did they do to you? Don't bother deflecting, I'll know, and you owe me anyway, have you considered my interests in this? Of course you haven't, you're _ not _ too busy being paranoid and sitting on things that aren't chairs-"

"Aw, you know me so well," Virgil drawls, leaning back. This next part's outright mortifying to say to Deceit of all people, but if there's some kind of hidden cost Virgil hasn't seen, Deceit will definitely sniff it out, so- "They, uh. Patched me up. Actually. Really freaked Thomas out when I started bleeding from my face."

"And once you were out of his sight?" Deceit demands. "What did they do then?"

"Hung out," Virgil mumbles, and then, because that sounded exactly like a teenager trying to hide how all his friends smoke weed, adds, "Logan said none of them have hit each other since Thomas was eleven. Guess the blood freaked _ them _ out too. I think they're waiting for me to heal before I pay them back." 

Deceit couldn't look more dubious if he were hanging around a bank with a ski mask and a gun. "But you _ haven't _ been here the entire time," he presses. "You've only seen them?"

Paranoia rears its ugly head. "No. Is that- is someone out? What the fuck, Dee, that's like your _ entire job _-"

"Never mind that."

"Never mind what, one of the others crawling around waiting to strike? What if he goes to Thomas?"

"That's not-" Deceit hisses out a sigh. "That's totally the concern. I won't explain this later, but for now I _ don't _ have a more pressing question. Why am I here?"

"Thomas' brain decided I wasn't enough Self-Preservation and installed an update," Virgil says, and Deceit hisses at him. Virgil grudgingly amends, "I've got a way to pay you back. Thomas promised a new video, but I can't show up like this or the fans will lose their shit. So I figured, since you impersonate people anyway..."

"Thomas knows you're injured," Deceit says. "You can't expect to convince him you healed so quickly, not when you had to be bandaged in his sight."

Virgil almost laughs. It feels weirdly nice to deliver good news for once. Makes a change from all the doomsday spiels. "Yeah, no, that's not what I meant," he says, and Deceit gives him a suspicious look. "You'd be meeting him as _ you _."

Deceit's face goes blank. He goes to clasp his hands in his lap, stops himself halfway, curls and uncurls them at his sides- "You believe that," he says incredulously. "That's _ unquestionably _ right. Surely something Morality would allow, I- that can't be correct. You've misunderstood something."

"Patton's the one who okayed it, actually," Virgil says, and then, because he's paranoid, too: "It's not- it's a favor to me. They won't expect anything from you. And if it's a trap-" Fuck, he hopes it's not a trap- "I'll cover for you to get out."

"You _ haven't _ made that clear to them," Deceit says, cautious.

Virgil pulls a face. "I'll tell them. But I asked to summon you alone, 'cause, y'know. Not getting surrounded as soon as you appear."

"I'm ever so grateful," Deceit drawls, then frowns and demands, "Are they waiting _ with Thomas?" _

"Yeah?" Virgil ventures. Shit, someone must've told a lie or something, because Deceit clocked their positions from a different _ plane of existence. _"I mean, we don't have to go up just yet, but Logan has this schedule-"

"There's no point drawing it out, is there?" Deceit asks, glaring at his clothes. His face is already shifting, going smooth and unbloodied, like he’s never been hurt in his life.

"You don't have to change clothes," Virgil says as comfortingly as he can. "Princey dresses weirder, and it's not like they haven't already told Thomas you're Deceit. He'll expect you to be all, y'know." He motions at his own face.

"Mutilated?" Deceit bites out, and Virgil flinches. The other Side's expression smooths, letting a hint of regret show, and he says, softer, "You're certain...?"

Virgil quirks his lips. "Yeah," he promises. "I'm pretty fucking certain."

When they appear in the real world, the others are all sitting on the couch, spread out like the world's laziest performance review. Virgil exchanges glances with Deceit and climbs up on the back of the couch, as far from the others as possible; Deceit sits at the edge, close enough that Virgil could touch him if he tried. Virgil swallows a well of warmth at the gesture of trust and says, "So, uh. Thomas, everyone, this is Deceit. He's the reason you can lie."

He scans their faces in case something needs intervention, but Logan just looks curious, Patton cautiously welcoming, Roman on edge but following the others' lead. All good so far.

Deceit stands and gives a little bow, flourishing his capelet. Patton giggles. "Horrific to meet you," he says, honeyed. "Anxiety tells me you need an understudy?" 

"He doesn't want me to fall behind," Thomas says, casting Virgil a worried look. "Not that I think the videos are more important than a Side getting hurt, but if you don't mind stepping in, I guess it's not a big deal." He studies Deceit, and Virgil senses barely a hint of fear. "Can I call you Deceit? Or is there a name you want me to use?"

"Do you _ have _ a name?" Princey bursts out, and Deceit blinks at him. "We've always assumed Anxiety does, but, well-"

"Of course I have a name," Deceit says, bringing a hand to his chest. "I could even tell it to you, if you like."

"You don't have to-"

"Patton shut up!" Roman whispers.

He looks to Deceit like a dog that's been promised walkies, and Deceit says, keeping a straight face, "Gaylord."

Thomas's face at that is _ beautiful_. 

"That's interesting," Roman tries, and Virgil stops being able to hold in his laughter. "You- hey!"

"He's called _ Deceit_," Virgil snickers. "He's not just gonna give you his name, Princey."

"He _ might _ have," Roman insists, affronted. His face is going red. "Why are you Dark Sides all so _ mean?" _

"Roman!" Patton snaps, and Deceit startles. "We talked about this."

"_Do _ worry, I'm definitely offended and steadfast in my refusal to recognize basic facts," Deceit says. "Who could expect a Side meant for deception to be anything less than a saint?"

"I have more important questions," Logan says, straightening his tie. "Namely, do you have venom? Anxiety doesn't seem to, but your own animal traits are somewhat more pronounced."

Thomas raises a hand. "Hold on, why would Anxiety have venom?"

"Spider traits, Thomathy, try to keep up." Roman, apparently recovered, looks eagerly at Deceit. "Well? Do you?"

"Definitely not," Deceit says. He looks tense again, besieged on all sides, and Virgil knocks his leg into his shoulder, lightly enough that it shouldn't jostle anything. Deceit turns to frown at him. "You _ shouldn't _have venom."

"I've bitten people before, though," Virgil says. "Pretty sure I'd notice if they keeled over after."

Deceit rolls his eyes. "If you don't mean to inject venom, you aren't going to. Venom use is voluntary in snakes and spiders."

Virgil bristles- how long has Deceit _ known _ about the spider thing, anyway- and Deceit eyes him. "Obviously," he says, starting to smirk. "Without question. Any idiot could have figured this out-"

"Don't make me bite _ you _to try it out," Virgil growls, and Deceit raises an eyebrow.

"In your state? Why, Anxiety," and here's the standard threat display, a shadow that says _ I have power in this mind, too, and you're still a Dark Side- _ "I'd _ hate _ to see you try."

Virgil's turn to roll his eyes, even though Roman goes still and tense beside him. "I could," he says, just to be contrary. "I mean. If I really wanted to. It's just too much work."

"There's the Side I know and tolerate," Deceit says, and then he's turning to the Light Sides and the real conversation begins.

Is Deceit going to bring the other Dark Sides? Oh, of course, he loves denying his main function. Thomas obliges them by not asking questions, even though he's clearly bursting with them. Virgil figures whatever the Light Sides said to him made an impression. 

Is he going to hurt anyone? Only if they hurt him first.

"Do you _ expect _ us to offer you harm?" Logan asks at that, and Virgil hisses at him. Deceit's expression goes tightly controlled, unsure and trying to hide it, and Logan says awkwardly, "You... it isn't necessary for you to answer that."

"Thank God for that," Deceit says, regaining some equilibrium. "Honest questions about feelings are just as much my Kryptonite as yours."

Thomas gives a little laugh at that, surprising himself, and Deceit's face goes pink. Virgil hides a smile. 

*

Of course his brief optimism jinxes everything. As soon as they're back in the Mindscape, half the kitchen crashes to the floor and a wild Duke comes stumbling out, arms laden with ice cream. 

"DeeDee!" he cheers, eyes flicking to the Sides behind him. "Thought you might be here. How many of these can I fill with _ maggots?" _

Deceit makes a flabbergasted, inarticulate noise, suddenly bursting with fear, and Virgil snaps, "What the _ hell, _Remus?"

"What? You didn't think I was gonna let my favorite snake come up here alone, did you?" Remus tilts his head, smile getting a lot less friendly. "He might lose one of his dicks!"

Deceit looks like he's on the verge of an aneurysm. "Remus, this is _ not the time," _ he shrills, rushing forward. "You- put those _ back-" _

"How'd you even get in here?" Patton asks, and Deceit's face goes even paler. Virgil can _ taste _ the anxiety, knows it like the back of his own hand: _ it's ruined they'll hurt him this is _it, shoved ruthlessly under a layer of calculation.

"I mean, Dee's here," Virgil says, glancing between them and the Light Sides. Roman doesn't have his sword out, and neither of the others looks mad, but they don't exactly look thrilled, either. Patton signed Thomas up for a lying snake, not the hellish spawn of FetLife and Catholic guilt. Who knows how the Duke’s presence up here is affecting Thomas. "He's... probably worried?"

Deceit stops trying to shoo Remus into another room and flinches, setting his face into a scandalized glare, but Patton beats whatever excuse he was about to come up with. 

"Oh! Um, I guess that makes sense." He worries his lip, obviously indecisive, and finally says, "Can you ask him not to freak Thomas out for a little bit? He can have the ice cream and stay while you're here, but if he starts hurting Thomas he has to leave."

Virgil stares, and he's not the only one. 

Remus asks, "Huh. Really?" Patton nods. "Then I call the mint chocolate chip! And the chocolate, and the rocky road, but I'm filling it with _ actual _ rocks-"

"_Don't _ leave the vanilla," Deceit says, glancing at Patton. 

"Please, Double D, vanilla's the _ last _thing I'm into."

"So, ah," Roman says, looking more lost than Virgil's ever seen him. He keeps watching Remus, even as Deceit bullies him into a chair and stands over him like he wants to tie him down- even as he nearly snickers at a joke, as he pales and flicks his eyes to the Light Sides in the next moment, as he rolls his eyes. He can't seem to tear his gaze away. "Does anyone want dinner? I'm making souffles."

"Are those the ones that get erectile dysfunction and deflate if you fuck 'em up?" Remus asks, then shoves an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's in his mouth. Deceit eyes him, apparently resorting to pretending they're not associated.

"Um. Yes," Roman says, and escapes into the kitchen. Logan sits across the table from Remus, narrowing his eyes; Patton wavers, twitching toward the Dark Sides like he wants to add something, then follows Roman into the other room.

The whole situation is surreal as fuck. Virgil kind of hopes it’ll last.

*

He really should’ve known his good mood couldn’t.

"Okay, spit it out," Virgil says, perched on the side of the downstairs bathtub. Deceit, sitting beside him, gives him an innocent look. Remus is outside the door, pretending to fuck around but also guarding the bathroom; the Light Sides, unless Roman did the reasonable thing and set up a guard, are all upstairs. It is three in the morning, and thus technically the day after the weirdest day of Virgil's life. Deceit still looks like he can't believe his luck.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," he says, wounds back on full display. It takes too much energy to bother hiding them when it's just him and Virgil, and anyway, Virgil suspects, Deceit couldn't care less about them right now. He met Thomas and didn't immediately get shouted down; behind the slyness, the other Side's probably on Cloud Nine.

"The _ thing_," Virgil insists, refusing to take pity. "Whatever has you so freaked out. Why were you surprised I was up here?"

Deceit asks, mouth twisting, "Are you certain you want to know? Ignorance can be bliss." Virgil glares- if he knows he's missing something ignorance is _ torture, _okay, Dee knows this- and Deceit sighs, drawing a hand over his face. It looks like it hurts. 

"I took a risk, getting you out of Malice's room," he admits, and a chill travels up Virgil's spine. "Previously, the only way Sides escaped was by dying- with, as far as I can tell, only one exception." Virgil's heart leaps into his throat. "Do you remember Dependence?"

Fuck. Virgil scours his brain and comes up with, "Didn't he duck out when Thomas was eleven? When he got all independent."

"That's right," Deceit says. "Malice used to go after him, if you'll recall." Virgil doesn't. "Once he managed to escape and started raving to himself in public, attacking anyone who came close-"

"He tried to kill me," Virgil says, suddenly remembering. "I mean, I got away, but-"

"He got worse and worse," Deceit pressed, "until he died. Then he came back to a great deal of enemies, and was eventually so beaten down-"

"That he ducked out," Virgil finishes. His blood is ice. "Are you saying Mal _ did _something to him?"

"Cat bites fester," Deceit says, "and Malice's purpose is to cause others pain. Has anything happened to you that you couldn't explain?"

"I have these nightmares," Virgil rasps. "My wrists bleed, after, and- I attacked Princey earlier. I wasn't sleeping, and I kept seeing Malice, except I'm pretty sure I was hallucinating? But Princey grabbed my shoulder and I punched him in the face."

He feels sick. Having to go through that on the Dark Side, where any slight could magnify into a feud that killed you more than once, would have been _ hell_. No wonder Dependence ducked out. If he'd tried to stay, after making enemies of _ everyone- _

"You have the right idea in not sleeping," Deceit says, and Virgil forces himself to pay attention. "But I'm not certain there's any cure other than dying and coming back."

"Except if I go to my room now, he'll be waiting outside," Virgil says. "I can't- you _ know _ how weak the fear thing gets if I'm dead, no way he won't be there when I wake up." And then he'd be back in that freezing room for real, chained up and screaming and no one to help, not ever, with Malice prying even deeper into his mind.

"I'm totally not aware," Deceit grits out, and Virgil forces himself to breathe. "I can even help. Short bursts of sleep shouldn't be so risky, if you're watched."

"I'd owe you," Virgil says. Deceit rolls his eyes.

"Yes, and you've certainly never done _ that _ before."

Virgil gives him a weak smile. "Just until this whole thing blows over, right?" Except it never will, because this is his life. "At least until we're done with this video."

Deceit bumps shoulders with him, gentle enough that it only hurts a little. The gesture is more reassuring than it has any right to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: threats of torture, forced kissing, injury, impled/referenced torture

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
